


light of my life, pain of my ass

by TheFledglingDM



Series: light of my life, pain of my ass [1]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: (and family), Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Wedding Planner, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Baker Killua Zoldyck, Cameraman Gon, DIY Pro Leorio, Designer Kurapika, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, GNC Kalluto, Humor, M/M, Multi, Original Character(s), Pining, Resolved Romantic Tension, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romantic Comedy, Slice of Life, Trans Alluka Zoldyck, Trans Kurapika, Trans Nanika, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, banter is the 6th love language, family love, kurapika starts as a dignified gay until he takes one (1) look at leorio, lots of random couples across hxh canon, tags to be added as i remember them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 172,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26330557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFledglingDM/pseuds/TheFledglingDM
Summary: “Melody, good evening,” he greeted. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”“Good evening!”Melody replied cheerfully.“I received a very interesting call today, and I wanted to get your opinion on it.”“Oh?” Kurapika asked. He reached for his wine and sipped. “Is this a work call, or a bitch session?” He would not put the wine down for anything short of a house fire, though, and he sipped his drink again as if to prove his point to some sort of invisible audience.Melody laughed.“That depends on how this conversation goes. But before we go any further: what do you think of weddings?”_or, a hunter x hunter wedding planner au.
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight
Series: light of my life, pain of my ass [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2172288
Comments: 458
Kudos: 586





	1. i’m afraid when i hear stories about husbands and wives

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaa hello, thank you for clicking!!! this is a fun, lighthearted au i just needed to write because i am so mentally and emotionally drained. i smiled writing this, and i hope reading it puts a smile on your face, too!!
> 
> chapter title shamelessly stolen from "if it's love," by train.

There was nothing in the world that gave Kurapika the amount of peace that he felt alone in his studio.

It did not matter what he was doing. He could be sketching up designs, or leaning over his sewing machine, or cooking dinner in his upstairs loft. If he’d had a bad day, he might be sitting in front of his TV with a glass of wine and the Food Network. If he’d had a _really_ bad day, he might be embroidering lace by hand in the intricate, painstaking way perfected by the Kurta.

Unfortunately, tonight was one such bad night. A summer storm was blowing into Yorknew, and through the wide bay windows Kurapika could see dark blue clouds tumbling in from the bay. Rain spattered in fat drops against his windows and onto the sidewalk twenty stories below. So instead of soft classical or alternative music or a podcast, he listened to the white noise of rain and thunder as he doodled in one of twenty or so sketchbooks he had splayed around the apartment.

He was in a lull, both professionally and creatively. During the most recent release of spring fashion lines and award shows, Kurapika’s calendar was booked from the day until the night: meetings with fellow designers and brand managers, consultations and fittings, interviews and galas and events. But now that rush was over, and Kurapika’s creative juices were sapped. He felt cranky and lethargic, yet also _antsy,_ his mind itching to _create_ and his hands to _sew._ But he hated everything that his pencils produced. He was too cranky to even embroider, because he was worried he might break the thread or bunch the fabric by pulling too tightly. And then he really might set his loft on fire and vanish into the mountains, never to be seen again.

So: Kurapika sat on his couch, limbs curled up beneath him in the far corner even though he lived alone and the plush leather could comfortably fit three. He sipped his sparkling rosé and listened to Menchi and Buhara something-or-other travel the continent in search of fine dining in family establishments, or whatever the hell the hell it was. And he curled his lip in a self-targeted snarl, because he _hated_ everything that he was putting on his sketchbook page.

The shoulders of this suit were too boxy; the design of this gown too daring, too experimental; the collar of this shirt too boring and conservative rather than traditional and chic. Sure, sure, Kurapika knew burnout happened sometimes (to _other_ people), and that clothes were elevated by the person wearing them. But lately his designs had lacked... _something._ Something necessary and essential and obvious.

They lacked passion. They lacked warmth, heart, soul. Kurapika knew it. His agent knew it. The recent reviews of his spring fashion line knew it.

Everyone knew what was _wrong._ They just didn’t know how to make it _right._

And short of time and patience - two things Kurapika very much lacked in the fast-paced fashion world - he had little idea how to make it better.

Kurapika sketched a design for a glove. A simple _glove._ The proportions for the fingers were all off. He was only saved from ripping the page out of his notebook and throwing it over his shoulder like a toddler’s tantrum by the ringing of his phone. He smiled slightly at the sight of the name on the screen. His agent had a magical way of making bad days bearable and good days even better. He slipped his thumb across his screen to connect the call and tucked his sketchbook safely aside to focus on the conversation.

“Melody, good evening,” he greeted. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

 _“Good evening!”_ Melody replied cheerfully. _“I received a very interesting call today, and I wanted to get your opinion on it.”_

“Oh?” Kurapika asked. He reached for his wine and sipped. “Is this a work call, or a bitch session?” He would not put the wine down for anything short of a house fire, though, and he sipped his drink again as if to prove his point to some sort of invisible audience.

Melody laughed. _“That depends on how this conversation goes. But before we go any further: what do you think of weddings?”_

Kurapika blinked. He could honestly say that he had not anticipated that question. Just to be sure, he glanced at his glass of wine: it was running low, but it was only one glass and he had been sipping on it for over an hour now. He felt very sober and very confused as he replied, “Well, that depends on the context, I suppose. Do you have something to ask me, Melody?”

Melody laughed, the sound ringing like bells across the airwaves. _“As flattered as I am, Kurapika, I don’t think we are each other’s type.”_

Kurapika sighed like the melodramatic prick he was, laying his head back against the couch and swirling the wine in his glass. The pink liquid sparkled in the light, the bubbles floating to the surface in little silver streams. “Alas,” he sighed. “In any case - as a general rule, I don’t have an aversion to weddings. As for myself, well.” He shrugged, not that Melody could see it. “I don’t see myself as the marrying type.”

 _“Again, this is not a proposal,”_ Melody assured him. _“The streaming service Netflix reached out to me today. They were impressed by you at Yorknew Fashion Week earlier this year -”_

“Dear god, _why?”_ Kurapika interrupted.

 _“I’m_ telling _you, stop being dramatic and interrupting me,”_ Melody ordered. _“Because while your submissions received mixed reviews -”_ Kurapika sighed, and he swore he _heard_ Melody’s eyes rolling in her head. _“-you ability to take charge when everything fell apart got you noticed.”_

Kurapika was silent for a few moments, considering that statement. Melody was referring to day four of the Fashion Week’s seven-day run, wherein anything that could have gone wrong, did go wrong. And it went _spectacularly_ wrong.

The stage management had mixed up their schedules and people, so the runway in room 8 had been left unstaffed. This led to all of the designers (except for Kurapika) collectively _losing their goddamn minds._ Models were going to the wrong makeup stations; clothes were being delivered to the wrong models; the catering was late, and the water was _flat._ The DJ somehow managed to lose or delete the playlist for the show. To top it all off, when the caterers _did_ finally arrive, they managed to run over a clothing rack and tear and stain the clothes of six different designers.

It would have been easy to have a meltdown. It would have been easier to say, _fuck it,_ and go to the VIP bar and drink away his sorrows as his chance to make a name for himself was dashed. But while Kurapika _was_ at times needlessly dramatic, he was _also_ a professional, dammit, so he grabbed a microphone headset and the Fashion Week binder and corralled the assistants and makeup artists and models and told the designers to either shut the _fuck_ up or get the _hell_ out.

All in all, the day had been long and exhausting - mentally, emotionally, and physically - but surprisingly rewarding. It was nice to see everything come together. It was different from the sense of fulfillment he felt watching a dress or suit come together in his hands, creating something beautiful from yards of fabric and thread. It was the satisfaction of a job well done, of taking something on the verge of disaster and steering it back onto the correct track.

The pay bump the showrunners had given him in compensation hadn’t hurt, either.

 _“They’ve been keeping their eyes out for some up-and-coming young professionals to headline a new show,”_ Melody said. _“They want you to come in and interview.”_

Kurapika sat straight up. “And this is a… wedding show?”

 _“Yes!”_ Melody said cheerfully. _“Two professionals working together to help couples’ wedding dreams come true. They want you to be the brains and designer behind the operation. They are still searching for the brawn.”_

“And they want me?” Kurapika asked doubtfully, picturing some kind of big, brawny muscle man. Nice enough to look at, he supposed, but not for much else. Kurapika as a rule tended to prefer more svelte builds. “I’m not very… romantic.”

Melody made a strange sound that was half-snort and half-cough. Ever the professional, however, she said, _“I know. But you’re not expected to be romantic. You just need to take the ideas that the couples give you and bring them to life. That, I know you can do. There’s a meeting next week with the showrunners and whoever they’ve selected to be your partner for this. But they want you to come in for an initial interview tomorrow.”_

Kurapika smiled. Flattery would get you nowhere, unless it was Melody, who was his only real friend and confidant. And then, it would get you… not everywhere, but it’d be somewhere, at least.

Maybe he hadn’t eaten enough before he started drinking.

But the matter still stood: someone was offering Kurapika a job, and he didn’t have anything else going on. So he could at least attend the pitch meeting.

“I suppose I could at least attend the pitch meeting,” Kurapika mused, staring up at the high rafters of his ceiling. Melody scoffed.

 _“Because you’re so busy,”_ she said. Melody could give as good as she got.

“Of course I am,” Kurapika sniffed, the picture of gay dignity. “I am designing. Awaiting my muse. Would you like to help, Melody?”

 _“Just go to the gay bar on the corner of South and Alexander,”_ Melody retorted. _“We can wingman for each other.”_

“Because that’s worked so well before,” Kurapika laughed. “You leave me to drink alone after the first thirty minutes.”

 _“Hm, true,”_ Melody conceded. _“I am so oft swept away by my admirers - ‘wild nights, were I with thee! Wild nights should be our luxury -’”_

“Oh, fuck off,” Kurapika laughed. It hadn’t taken long at all for Melody to fall into quoting Dickinson to make fun of him for being endlessly single. Nevermind that he was endlessly single by _choice,_ thank you, and that worked great for him. And, sure, he hardly had a revolving door when it came to his partners. But he was a very particular man with very exacting tastes. He wasn’t scared out of his mind at the idea of anything beyond the sporadic one-night stand. He was a busy man with a busy schedule and a debilitating terror of commitment and emotional vulnerability, _what?_

 _“Very well,”_ Melody laughed. _“I’ll text you the address. The meeting is at ten o’clock tomorrow. I’ll see you then.”_

“Of course,” Kurapika said warmly. “Thank you, Melody. Good night.”

He hung up the phone to return to his miserable sketching and his excellent wine. At least he had those constants to look forward to.

~

The interview did not go well.

It went _brilliantly._ He met Melody at nine-thirty at a hipster coffee shop near Netflix HQ that was definitely jacking up the prices, but they had a sweet cold brew with the smooth consistency of caramel, so it evened out. Then they went to Netflix’s main offices on the 99th floor of their massive skyscraper, where they met a deceptively youthful-looking woman named Biscuit Krueger. She shook their hands with a grip strong enough to crack knuckles, insisted they call her “Bisky,” and introduced herself as the executive producer of the show. Then she led them into a comfortable-looking break room full of soft red chairs and couches. Bisky ran the conversation-style meeting as other professionals cycled in and out: directors, editors, executives.

After lunch (catered and delivered on time, unlike the Unmitigated Disaster that was Fashion Week) Kurapika was introduced to the lead cameraman for the still-untitled show, a cheerful man in his mid-twenties who sent Kurapika a lethally bright smile and introduced himself as Gon Freecss. Whoever was selected to run the show, Gon would be the one with a camera on his shoulder, following them all around and capturing every precious moment on tape. As if Kurapika might not have believed him, he had one such camera on his shoulder for the entirety of this interview. Which was odd, but Kurapika found he rather liked Gon, for all his earnest puppyishness. And there was something about the way he held himself and his general demeanor that almost made Kurapika forget he had a large camera being pointed in his face.

“How did you get into the business?” Kurapika asked.

Gon took a sip of his water. “I grew up on a tiny island, way way out to sea. It was too small for the cruise ships to even stop at, so the most traffic we got was the fishing ships. There wasn’t a lot to do, so I tended to muck around in the woods a lot. I got really good at making myself scarce and subtle.” He exchanged a wide grin with Bisky. "Turns out those skills carry over into reality TV.”

“Why television?” Melody asked. She lifted her napkin to dab at her mouth. “Why not movies?”

“My dad is some big hot-shot TV exec,” Gon said with a cheerful shrug. “He didn’t raise me, though. He kinda dropped me off on my aunt when I was an infant and came back to the mainland. I wanted to see the wonders of the silver screen. The glamor and thrill of the life he chose over raising me.”

Nothing changed about Gon’s carefree attitude or his sunny demeanor disposition. But something about his energy dimmed as if someone had turned down the brightness on a screen. Kurapika thought for a few minutes, wondering how to answer that. He sipped his sparkling water thoughtfully.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said finally. Melody’s brows rose a fraction of an inch when she overheard the contraction. With the common tongue not his first language, Kurapika tended to speak much more formally than his peers, especially around new people or in new environments (or job interviews, or days like today when he faced all three). It was a sign of Gon’s welcoming personality and Kurapika’s comfort with the younger man that he had adopted even that informality so quickly. He laced his fingers together in his lap, his spine almost achingly straight from his impeccable posture. “I… lost my parents at a very young age. I was taken in by a close family friend, but still.” He felt Melody’s stare on his profile and could only guess at her shock. The immensely private Kurapika, bearing his soul’s deepest wound to someone he had just met? Perhaps Gon really was the proverbial sunshine child. Perhaps Kurapika was much lonelier than he realized. “I often wonder what life could have been, had things been different.”

“Man, that stinks!” Gon replied in the exact same tone. He beamed. “Why do you design clothes?”

Which was a bit of tone whiplash, if he was being honest, but Kurapika could work with that. He told Gon a little about his Kurta family and their old textile shop, where his mother produced handmade clothes and taught her son how to sew, to embroider, to weave lace. She supervised a young Kurapika as he stitched small patches in clothes. Kurapika sometimes flinched to recall his enormous, uneven stitches, knowing his mother must have stayed up even later to put the projects he had mangled to rights. But those sunny afternoons in the first floor of their storefront-slash-apartment remained locked in Kurapika’s young psyche as the best moments of his childhood.

Before everything went wrong. Before the accident. Before the shop’s doors shuttered forever, the building left to its ghosts for a respectable mourning period until it became a bookstore. Kurapika was long gone by then, transplanted onto a different family tree. Accepted warmly into a life filled with love and affection, where his adoptive parents treated him as if he were their own and their own biological child looking up to Kurapika as his hero, and yet.

And yet, Kurapika missed his family. He longed for what could have been. And in their endless patience and grace, his adoptive parents procured him a sketchbook, a sewing kit, art classes, anything that let a young Kurapika feel closer to his deceased parents. As the years wore on, it was enough.

But Kurapika did not delve into all of that with this room of two-thirds strangers. So he simply said that he started young, with parents and guardians who encouraged him in his artistic pursuits, and after years of hard work he made a lucky break.

“Do you have your portfolio with you?” Bisky asked, perking up at the end of his abbreviated story. Which _obviously_ he did, he was a _professional,_ and the more he talked with Bisky and Gon the more he actually wanted this job, and they hadn’t even _gotten_ to the discussion of contracts and pay yet. He passed Bisky his portfolio and allowed Bisky and Gon to tuck their heads together and _ooh_ and _aah_ at Kurapika’s pieces, like this was a yearbook. Stunning dresses and tuxes for awards shows; high-end everyday clothes from the runway; a few glimpses at his more adventurous sketches, the pieces he wanted to make one day but hadn’t yet had the opportunity. Melody caught his gaze during the conversational lull, and she sent him a subtle thumbs-up and a blatant grin.

Kurapika saw the moment Bisky found the final page. After his conversation with Melody last night, he had flipped on one of those shows of prospective brides trying on dresses. Judging by the cuts of the gowns and the hairstyles of the women, the reruns were from nearly ten years ago. Still, Kurapika studied the hemlines and trains and high waists of the dresses, and by the end of the third episode, he had something he didn’t utterly hate on the page. In a fit of bravery, he had carefully removed the sketch and slipped it into his portfolio.

He saw Bisky’s brown eyes skimming over the sketch. It was a relatively simple cut of a dress, with three-quarter sleeves, a sweetheart neckline, a close-fitting bodice, a loose, flowing skirt. Lace floated over the gown, glowing in a filmy top layer and embroidered with queen anne’s roses. The lace could easily be done in classic white or soft pink for a splash of color.

“This is lovely,” Bisky said, trailing her finger over the sketch’s edge. “How long do you think it would take to complete something like this?”

“Hm,” Kurapika hummed. “It would depend on how quickly I could get the fabric - considering the client’s preference and price points - and if I had enough lace already prepared. With the measurements and no distractions… three days?”

“And if you were asked to add a suit to that mix?” Bisky asked.

“Four to five for both,” Kurapika said honestly. “Again, depending on fabric and the level of detail required. I don’t outsource my fine details.”

Bisky nodded as if Kurapika had answered a pop quiz question correctly. Gon’s mouth fell open in awe.

“All of these are handmade?” Gon gasped, as if this had finally clicked. His brown eyes shone in his face. “These are beautiful, Kurapika!”

Kurapika smiled, feeling his cheeks go red and trying not to preen too obviously. “Yes, they are. Thank you, Gon.”

Bisky closed the portfolio with a very promising sort of finality. She handed Kurapika back his portfolio with a clever smirk on her pink-painted lips. “Unfortunately, that’s time for us today. Thank you for coming in, Kurapika. We’ll be in touch.”

~

“So you got the job.”

Kurapika bit his lip to stifle a grin, tucking his face into his curry. “That’s not for sure yet.”

Pairo rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Since when are you humble? We both know they’re calling you like. Tomorrow.”

“Don’t _jinx_ it,” Kurapika hissed, nudging his brother’s thigh with his foot. “It’s bad luck to claim a part before it’s confirmed -”

“Yeah, but _you’re_ not.” Pairo rolled his eyes and took a bite of his crab rangoon. It was more cream cheese than crab, but he was still slowly and methodically destroying half-a-dozen of them. “I am. Doesn’t count when I do it.”

“That’s a technicality,” Kurapika said. Pairo grinned.

“I’m a writer. It’s what I do best.”

“What you do best is pull bullshit out of your ass three weeks past the deadline and still end up with a bestseller.”

Pairo threw back his head and laughed, his carton of lo mein tilting dangerously in his hands. Kurapika narrowed his eyes at the disaster waiting to happen, knowing that he _would_ punt his brother out of his loft’s window at the first opportunity. Despite their utter lack of shared genes, the family resemblance between them was obvious to anyone who met them. Kurapika was blond where Pairo’s hair was dark; his eyes dusky gray where Pairo’s were a dark auburn, framed by thick black glasses frames. Kurapika was of average height, but lithe and bony; Pairo was taller, his limbs stronger and his body softer. But they shared a passion for cheap takeout and expensive alcohol and bad TV, for taking their minds and their hands and creating new and beautiful things.

They were best friends. They were brothers. They never needed biology or paperwork to make that so.

“That too,” he conceded, wiping moisture from his eyes. Pairo was always so effusive with his emotions, loud and open where Kurapika preferred to play his cards close to the chest. Or, more accurately, he preferred to never play them at all.

“Still,” Pairo went on. “This is awesome! It’s such a cool opportunity. Maybe this will open some new doors in life for you.” He lifted his eyebrows meaningfully.

Kurapika rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone, glancing at the timer he’d surreptitiously put on when Pairo knocked on his door. “Thirty-five minutes and twenty-seven seconds. A new record. Did mom put you up to this?”

“No!” Pairo insisted unconvincingly. Kurapika sent him a glare and pulled the rest of the crab rangoons towards himself. Immediately Pairo cracked, crying out, _“nonononono!”_ and reaching for them. He scowled at his elder brother. “Fine. Yes, she asked me to give you a ‘gentle push’ on the romance topic -”

“If she pushed any harder I’d fall off a bridge.”

“Yes, that’s why she’s tapped me to do it,” Pairo said, rolling his eyes. “Between her and Altair, the topic of your love life is a favorite.”

“Not your book series?”

“I think if I say anything more about the book series, Altair will actually break off the engagement,” Pairo said with a self-deprecating laugh. Kurapika shook his head; he had seen his brother and fiancé together for years, and known Altair for even longer. If there was a couple more dedicated and in love, Kurapika had not met them. Pairo leveled Kurapika with an uncharacteristically serious stare. “You’re not getting any younger, Pika.”

Kurapika rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Not even his childhood nickname would soften him on this. “I’m thirty-two. I’m hardly going gray.”

“You dress like it.”

“Fuck _off,”_ Kurapika replied instantly. He took a bite of his now-lukewarm curry. “I’m very happy living the single life.”

Pairo glanced around, taking in the spotless, minimalist kitchen counters, the mint-shape designer furniture, the racks of shoes and clothes, the miles of bolts of fabric and the carefully organized and impeccably labeled tower of drawers. Kurapika’s loft looked less like a home and more like it belonged in the glossy pages of a catalogue. In fact, it was rather telling that even in his head, Kurapika referred to the space as his loft or studio. He had not thought of a space as _home_ for a very long time.

Hm. Kurapika had never thought of it like that before. Not that he would _ever_ give Pairo the credit of knowing that he had said something his brother hadn’t thought of.

But all Pairo did was say, “of course,” and change the subject. “Who d’you think is going to be your co-star in this?”

“Again, it’s not confirmed that I have the job,” Kurapika reminded Pairo loudly. Not that it mattered, because Pairo only spoke over him as he went on, “Do you know who they’re considering? Anyone on your wishlist?”

Kurapika sighed and wondered why he bothered. “I don’t watch those DIY-shows. I _am_ a DIY show.”

“What happened to jinxing things?” Pairo asked with a grin. Kurapika froze for a moment, praying that the Gods of Netflix didn’t hear his slip, and then he scowled at his brother.

“Shut up.”

“Never,” Pairo promised. He reached for Kurapika’s remote. “C’mon, I’m going to make you watch some of these. Maybe you’ll see your new colleague.”

The next three hours flew by in a haze of _Home Hunters_ and _Flip-Its_ and _Love It or Leave It,_ and by the end, Kurapika saw no one he would ever want to _meet,_ let alone work with. Were all his clients going to be this weirdly specific? This demanding? Was his partner going to be this over-the-top and annoying? Kurapika found his initial eagerness for the role and his excitement souring as he watched.

Maybe this show wasn’t what he needed at all. Maybe this was career suicide, and by leaving the fashion industry to do his little _maybe-I’ll-find-myself_ project, he’d fall out of that realm forever and fade into obscurity. Maybe this was a terrible idea all along.

~

It took a little under a week, but one Tuesday afternoon, Kurapika finally received the call.

The number itself was unfamiliar, but Kurapika knew enough to recognize the incoming call from a Netflix line. His heart had jumped up to pound in his throat when he accepted the call, offering a somewhat curt, “This is Kurapika.”

 _“Kurapika!”_ Bisky greeted him with jovial professionalism. _“I do know it’s you, of course, seeing as I called you. Is now a good time?”_

Kurapika did not have it in him to confess that pretty much whenever was a good time right now, because he was technically unemployed between commissions. “Yes.”

 _“Excellent!”_ Bisky either did not notice Kurapika’s shortness, or she did not care. Perhaps she even had the wisdom to guess, correctly, that his brusqueness was less standoffishness and more nerves about whatever this call was about. Regardless, she went on, _“Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your offer to star in our newest, as-yet-untitled, feel-good wedding show here on Netflix! Welcome to the team!”_

Kurapika had known this call was probably coming. Everyone from Melody to Pairo and no one in between because they were Kurapika’s friend core group and support system and they had insisted upon it. But Kurapika still found himself sitting uncomfortably still on his couch, his back cramping and legs crossed into an improbable pretzel shape his hips grew tired of three years ago. He needed to speak, to say something. His eyes were wide as his brain spun, mixing _thank you_ and _oh fuck,_ and what came out of his mouth was a deeply unfortunate mix of the two.

“Thank fuck,” Kurapika said out loud with his mouth to his new boss.

To her eternal credit, Bisky’s response was a surprised laugh and not an immediate rescinding of this job offer.

 _“I’m glad you seem to be looking forward to it,”_ she said warmly. _“We’re doing the official contract signing and all tomorrow, and then bright and early next week you all can get started! Sounds good?”_

“Yes,” Kurapika said, his mouth opening and closing uselessly as Bisky went on about more logistics, union minutiae and calls he needed to give Melody and someone named Zepile, and finally she capped everything off with a surprisingly brisk order to _be here tomorrow, nine o’clock sharp, conference room 9989._ And then Kurapika was sitting alone in his loft, heart throbbing against his tonsils, mouth open to ask _who is my co-star_ to the flat dial tone.

Well. Shit. Fine. Perhaps Melody would know. Kurapika called his agent, only to get her voicemail. Odds were she was now on a call with Bisky discussing endless legalese that would make Kurapika’s head spin, so he sent her a text to ask if she would please tell him the name of his new partner-to-be so that he could spend the night anxiously web-stalking every single piece of media they had appeared in.

Okay. So, Kurapika wasn’t planning to go _that_ far. He just did best in situations he knew he could control, and knowing that he was about to have his life tied up with a virtual stranger’s for at least the next year left him feeling _very much not in control._

Kurapika took a long breath. He was not going to get anything accomplished sitting here on his couch freaking out. He stood up, his knees _loudly_ informing him of their irritation with his recent sitting position, and stumbled up the stairs to his bedroom. His bed was neatly made, his clothes all perfectly organized based on season and color. He stood in the middle of his walk-in closet, hands on his hips, wondering when he became _the_ proverbial gay stereotype and also just wondering what the hell to wear to this signing.

Here’s the thing: Kurapika was not _vain,_ not exactly. Well, by societal standards he was, but for his fashion-and-appearance obsessed profession, Kurapika was on the lower-average end of the spectrum. He took pride in looking professional and unapproachable and aloof, but that was about it. He didn’t spend thousands of dollars on his hair or skin or makeup products. But he was also raised not to be an asshole, a middling success that at least left him generally refraining from judging others based on their appearance decisions.

To Kurapika, clothes and fashion were a means of making a statement. They assured prospective clients and models that he was a damn good designer who knew what he was doing. They spoke volumes of comfort and confidence, of decades of personal trials and tribulations he had quietly confronted and overcome. They were armor against the world, a buffer between him and the demons he had not yet faced. They were his way of announcing to the world, _I am not cis, I am not straight, and I will be respected for it._

But Kurapika also wanted to look like a _somewhat_ decent person to work for and with. He wanted to make a good impression, to look like _the_ perfect designer for the job lest they decide to switch him out at the last minute. How to do that without coming off as a pretentious, shallow asshole?

Two minutes later he had his phone in his hand. Two rings, and that precious voice answered. _“Kurapika?”_

“Pairo,” Kurapika started. “I got the job.”

 _“Obviously?”_ Pairo stated, the brotherly equivalent to a shout of _congratulations, I’m so proud. “So why are you calling me sounding like you’re walking to the guillotine?”_

“I sign my contract tomorrow, and I have no idea what to wear for it,” Kurapika confessed. It was only after he said it aloud that he realized how _ridiculous_ he sounded. He had to pull the phone away from his ear as Pairo lost his utter shit laughing at him for a solid minute.

 _“Pika, that is the gayest thing you’ve ever said to me, and I’m including everything from your teen years,”_ Pairo cackled in his older brother’s face.

“Shut up. I still have a list of every stupid proposal idea I had to veto lest you end up as a viral video, idiot,” Kurapika snarled.

His reminder fell flat, clearly, because Pairo laughed again. _“I dunno, I still think the hot air balloon would have been fun.”_

“Altair is afraid of heights.” Which remained Kurapika’s favorite piece of trivia about his future-brother-in-law. A man named for a constellation who couldn’t go more than ten feet off the ground without needing a box around him? Peak irony. “Which is why I also vetoed the roller coaster proposal. And the ferris wheel.”

 _“And yet, he said yes,”_ Pairo reminded Kurapika smugly, as if he had somehow forgotten. There was a subtle reminder that Kurapika wasn’t getting any younger, and he had better get on that Big Serious Relationship Train before he crumbled to dust. _“Just wear something nice and comfortable.”_

“Thank you,” Kurapika sniped sarcastically. He flipped through hangers without actually taking anything in. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Pairo sighed. _“Okay, Pika. What are you actually freaking out about? Do you know who your co-star is, yet?”_

“No!” Kurapika exploded. He was trying to sound dignified and stressed, but he feared it came out more whiny and desperate. “I am about to sign a contract to work with a person I have never met for at least a year. A year! What if this show is terrible? What if I hate it? What if they all hate _me?_ What if this creative _funk_ I’m in persists, and no one likes my designs, and I ruin a dozen couples’ weddings, and they all break up, and they cancel the show and then sue Netflix and then it goes out of business, and then I’m the stupid shitty artist who was _so bad_ I literally _bankrupted Netflix,_ and - _stop laughing, Pairo!”_ he shouted the last part a bit breathlessly, because he was out of breath from his run-on sentences. And he could hear his brother’s helpless, good-natured laughter across the phone lines.

 _“Kurapika, I love you, but you really need to work on your anxiety,”_ Pairo said gently. _“Also, I’m sorry for laughing, but you are so fucking dramatic. I love you.”_ He took a long sigh. Kurapika pictured the asshole wiping a tear of mirth from his eye.

 _“Where do I start? One: Netflix is a multi-billion-dollar company. You couldn’t bankrupt it on your own if you tried.”_ Kurapika tried to argue, but Pario spoke over him. _“Two: you are an excellent designer. You are designing for everyday people who are getting their dream wedding done for free. They will love anything you make them because I know that you are going to give it everything you have. Three: this is a one-year contract? And if it sucks and it’s not what you want, then I’m sorry, but it’s just a year. And then you’ll come out of it with new experiences and you’ll have learned something you didn’t want to do with your life.”_

Kurapika sighed. His throat was tight. “Usually it’s supposed to be the big brother looking after the younger one.”

 _“I’m twenty-eight,”_ Pairo laughed. _“I'm hardly falling off my bike or terrified of asking guys out anymore. I’m just paying you back.”_

“You never owed me anything,” Kurapika said fondly.

 _“That’s why you’re the best brother in the world,”_ Pairo said. _“Prick.”_

Kurapika snorted. “Asshole.”

 _“Yeah,”_ Pairo agreed. _“Love you too, Pika.”_

~

Kurapika adjusted his cuffs, the gold cufflinks winking at him in the elevator lights. He checked his royal blue dress shirt was pressed, the collar even, the matching collar chain even and not tangled. He ensured his hair was smooth and not tangled and he wondered if he really _was_ just about to make a terrible mistake, because it could not be a good sign that he was this nervous to sign a piece of paper, right? _Right?_

The doors opened. He stepped into the Netflix lobby, nodding to the secretary, who sent him a small smile and indicated that the conference room was down this hallway, Mr. Kurapika, just follow the noise and you can’t miss it. Which was inadvertently a _horrible_ thing to say for his nerves, but he only sent her a short nod and a forced smile and a murmured _thank you._ He walked on, counting the conference room numbers as they went up. He could already hear the hum of voices echoing, a clamor that was rising in decibels with every step he took.

Maybe this was a bad idea, Kurapika thought. This might go terribly. It was a full year on a wedding show, and he was a man deathly allergic to both emotions and commitment. His mind was starting to run away with him in a series of half-formed _what-ifs_ and _how-abouts,_ anxiety spiking in his stomach until he felt nauseous from it. And then he heard it.

A laugh.

A man’s laugh.

And something about this laugh made Kurapika stop in his tracks five feet from the door. The sound sent a rush of something sparkling and heady down his spine. He had heard hundreds of laughs in his line of work - real and fake, subtle and braying, affected and tinkling and nasal. This was not the most musical laugh he had heard - that superlative went to Melody - but this one was... different. It was joyful and unrestrained, unselfconscious in a way that left Kurapika almost envious. Envious and very, very curious.

Shyly, he stepped closer to the door. All he could see were executives, who were speaking to a pink-suited Bisky or Melody or a tall stranger with red hair and an orange suit. He cast about, seeking a familiar face, finding one in the smiling side profile of Gon. He said something to his conversation partner, and the man laughed. The sound was magnetic, delighted. Perfect.

It was the same laugh from before. Kurapika studied this man - he was _tall,_ definitely at least six-two. He could have modeled in another life, with those long, strong limbs and trim waist and broad shoulders. He wore snug-fitting jeans and a white button-up shirt and a blue blazer. Kurapika studied him in profile, noting the suntanned skin, the wide grin, the angular jaw, the short, dark hair.

Kurapika only had one thought in his mind, a half-formed echoing question starting with _who._

 _Who is he? Who is he? I need to know who that man is._ He could be a producer or a cameraman with Gon or an editor or the freaking _caterer,_ Kurapika did not _care._ He just heard that man laugh and knew he needed to know him.

And then Gon glanced around, looking for something in the crowd. He met Kurapika’s eye and stopped what he was saying. Then his grin brightened exponentially, and he waved Kurapika over eagerly.

“There he is!” Gon cried out excitedly. He was looking at Kurapika but still speaking to this man. “Quick, Kurapika, c’mere!”

Kurapika stopped in between them, his hands tucked neatly behind his back like he could hide his sweaty palms that easily. Up close, the man seemed almost larger than life, both in height and in his charismatic presence. He looked at Kurapika with pleasant curiosity. Up close, Kurapika could see the shadows of scruff along his jawline, the slope of his nose and brows, the mingling shades of green and brown in his eyes.

“This is Kurapika,” Gon was chattering. “He’s going to be the designer and planner on the show! You should see his designs, they’re so good! He made this suit, with these like, coattails? But the coattails look like peacock feathers, it was really neat!”

Kurapika felt his cheeks tint pink. He ducked his head. “Thank you, Gon. That’s very kind.” He glanced up at this stranger. “And you are?”

The man grinned, a nine-million volt thing that fried every synapse between Kurapika’s brain and mouth, and held out a hand. “So nice to meet you, I’m Leorio! I’m going to be your design partner on the show. Kinda taking all the ideas you have and bringing them to life! It’s nice to meet you. I'm looking forward to working with you!”

And all Kurapika could think was, _oh, fuck._

_This is going to be the biggest mistake of my life._

_I cannot wait to work with you, either._


	2. you ain’t seen nothing like me yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kurapika and leorio's professional relationship is off to a complicated start.
> 
> CW for portrayals of anxiety and REALLY brief allusions to transphobia/shitty families. it's only mentioned in passing and it is going to be the only time it's mentioned in this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! thank you for making it to chapter 2! the title for this chapter is taken from adele's "make you feel my love." are you starting to sense a pattern?
> 
> ok SO. a note. in this fic i use the word "queer" as an umbrella term to describe not-cisgender/not-heterosexual relationships. i recognize and i respect that not all people are comfortable with that term! however, due to its inclusivity towards all identities that are not cishet, whether they fall under the LGBTQIAA+ acronym or not. it is also the term used for the study of our culture and history, and it is the term i use to describe myself. so. that's what i wanted to say! it didn't feel right to use as a content warning but i also wanted to give folks that heads-up. thank you!!

“Come on, come _on,”_ Kurapika muttered, one hand on his hip and the other shoving his phone against his ear. His earring back dug into the hollow just behind his ear, an uncomfortable pinching sensation that just felt like piling on after the day he’d had.

The day he could only half-remember, his brain occupied in a rapid montage of meeting Netflix executives and discussing contracts and pay with Melody and Bisky. With the slowly dawning horror that was his realization that he had just signed a contract to work for a year on a _wedding show._ A wedding show where his professional counterpart was a very, _very_ handsome stranger.

Because Leorio Of No Last Name was still a stranger at the end of this very long day: in the rush of contract signing (and a million other forms) and new employee orientation, they actually had very little opportunity to speak to one another. Which was _weird._ Wouldn’t the producers want to be sure they could work together before they signed the paperwork? Some kind of initial run? A screen test? Lest the entire enterprise was a bust?

Then again, maybe Netflix just didn’t care. It tossed a lot of money at mediocre shows that only lasted a season or two. Even if Kurapika fucked everything up, between their premise as a wedding show and Leorio looking Like That, Netflix probably wouldn’t even take a loss.

Unless Kurapika fucked up so badly the couples all broke up and sued and Netflix shut down, which he was still worried about.

Finally the call connected.

 _“Kurapika!”_ The voice was not Pairo’s, but it was just as much of a relief to hear. Altair’s smooth baritone went on, _“This is a pleasant surprise! My love has locked himself in his study to ‘focus,’ something he claims he cannot do with me around. So I’ve picked up his phone to cause some chaos.”_

“I can tell,” Kurapika said, his expression easing into a smile. His soon-to-be brother-in-law’s friendly voice was already relaxing him. “How late is he on the most recent deadline?”

 _“Nearly two weeks,”_ Altair said, laughing. _“Pairo’s editor is about to break down our door. I sent her flowers from us both as a thanks for her hard work and patience.”_

“I’m sure she appreciated that,” Kurapika said, making a mental note to do the same for Melody one of these days. Especially if this show ended up as a career boon and not a disaster.

 _“I think she appreciated the Merlot more,”_ Altair confessed, and Kurapika laughed aloud. _“But be honest. What’s happened? I can hear you pacing.”_

Kurapika stopped walking, frowning down at his feet. His shiny, hard-soled shoes winked up at him. He made a grumpy sound, finally yanking them off of his feet and throwing them in the door’s direction. But then that was too messy, the clutter of a single pair of shoes in the entryway, so Kurapika had to stalk over and carry his shoes upstairs to their proper place. Through it all, he said, in an effort to regain his dignity, “I had my contract signing at Netflix today.”

 _“Kurapika, that’s amazing!”_ Altair cried. _“I forgot that was today! How did everything go? Did you get any freebies? Did you meet any celebrities?”_

“Yes, well,” Kurapika said, sighing. “I have some… things… I would like to discuss it with you and Pairo. Would you like to come over for dinner?”

 _“Of course!”_ Altair accepted immediately. _“I had an early morning today, and Pairo has been locked up for hours. I think we could both benefit from dinner and company. Seven?”_

Kurapika glanced at the clock above his stove. It was already past six.

“Sure,” he said, thinking through his mental list of recipes that took an hour to make. “I’ll see you then.”

 _“Looking forward to it,”_ Altair said, and he hung up the phone. Kurapika heaved out a sigh and made his way to his kitchen, looking for something he could make in his limited amount of time. He could do… pasta. Some kind of sauce. Shrimp? Neither Kurapika nor Pairo had the cooking skills in their family, but he could give it a try, right?

Forty minutes later Kurapika was calling a local takeout restaurant and wafting the smoke out his open windows. Which was very much _not_ the dignified picture of the professional Kurapika wanted to project to his brother and his brother’s fiancé when they walked through his door.

Dammit, he never should have given Pairo a key.

“Aw, Pika,” Pairo said with a smirk, “You tried to cook for me. You shouldn’t have.”

“Shut _up,”_ Kurapika snapped. Altair gave him a hug and pressed a light kiss to each of his cheeks.

“I think it was very sweet of you to try, Kurapika,” Altair said. His midnight blue eyes were glittering wickedly as he added, “And you _really_ shouldn’t have.”

“I am never buying you dinner again,” Kurapika announced. He slammed his window shut with a dramatic flourish. “This is the last time. You’re lucky I already ordered.”

“Oh no,” Pairo deadpanned as he sat on Kurapika’s couch. He lifted his right arm to sling it over the couch’s back, and Altair settled into his personal space with the casual confidence of someone who never questioned that it was exactly where he belonged. Utterly baffling. “My heart has broken. My brother will never buy me takeout again. How will I go on?”

“I will support you,” Altair vowed, tracing a hand over Pairo’s cheek. “Through thick and thin, in sickness and in health -”

“Why did I invite you here?” Kurapika wondered aloud. Ungrateful brothers aside, he went into the kitchen to get them all water. He handed one to Altair and pantomimed dumping Pairo’s over the little shit’s head before he handed that to him, as well. Finally he sat down, grateful to finally put his feet up after a stressful day.

“I’m not sure,” Pairo said. “Altair said you sounded stressed on the phone. What’s up?”

Kurapika cracked open his can of sparkling water and sipped. “I met my show partner.”

There was a long silence. Pairo finally scoffed. “Can you not be dramatic for three seconds and just communicate? What happened? Are you best friends now? Is it an ex?”

“No,” Kurapika snapped. “He is…”

What _was_ Leorio? Kurapika hadn’t had enough opportunity to get to know the man beyond his name and his apparent role as Kurapika’s partner on this show, making strangers’ wedding dreams come true. He seemed pleasant enough. Friendly. Mind-bendingly handsome.

“... nice,” Kurapika finally decided on, somewhat lamely. Pairo lifted a brow.

“Oh-kay,” he said, drawing out the word. “Glad we got that cleared up. What’s his name? Where’s he from? What does he do? What show was he on before?”

“I only know his first name,” Kurapika said. He fiddled with the tab at the top of his can, avoiding Pairo’s eye. Of all the - he spent the day wanting to run home and tell his brothers about his latest disaster waiting to happen, and now that they were here, he just wanted to clam up and keep everything inside forever. “Leorio.”

Altair snorted on his sip of water. Pairo and Kurapika turned to him, Pairo alarmed and Kurapika with a growing dread in the pit of his stomach. Altair was laughing aloud in earnest now, his left hand reaching up to wipe the water from his lips. His wedding ring flashed in the light as it moved. Finally, Altair said, _“Oh,_ I get it now.”

“Get what?” Pairo asked.

Altair snorted. “Kurapika, how do you pull up YouTube on your TV? I’m going to show you his videos. Tell Pairo the issue or I will.”

“His _videos?”_ Kurapika repeated.

“What is _happening_ here?” Pairo demanded.

Altair sent Kurapika a look. Kurapika sighed. “My co-star is… attractive.”

“Oh, damn,” Pairo said immediately. He looked at his partner, as if Altair somehow understood the issue better than Kurapika. “He’s screwed, isn't he?”

“Oh, Pairo, darling,” Altair said, entering Leorio’s name into the search queue. “He never had a chance.”

Kurapika frowned at his television screen as the page loaded. “So he has a YouTube show. Not a network show. That explains why neither Pairo nor I came across him when we were watching other DIY shows.”

“He’s a YouTuber with a huge following,” Pairo surmised.

“Yes, congratulations, you can read,” Kurapika snarked as he skimmed the search results. Each video had hundreds of thousands of views. Leorio’s channel, _Doing It,_ an innuendo if he ever heard one, had over five million subscribers.

“Here’s a popular one,” Altair said, clicking on a video from over a year ago. It was titled, _Building a Wedding Canopy - a Doing It special episode!!_

The video loaded after the prerequisite ten-second ad. Kurapika pretended to ignore Pairo’s glare.

“Really? You can’t spring for premium?”

“I don’t use this feature enough,” Kurapika snapped. “It’s not worth it -”

“Oh my god, Pika, it’s _five dollars a month -”_

“Shut _up,_ Pairo, I didn’t ask you, and you can pay for it anyway, get your own.”

“I _have_ my own.”

“Then go watch this on your own damn TV, I still fail to see what the big deal is - oh, _my god,”_ Kurapika said out loud. He slapped Pairo’s stomach to shut him up like he had been the one speaking. His eyes were glued to the TV screen. “Oh, my god. _Oh my god.”_

Kurapika realized he had a hand pressed flat to his chest. Pairo rolled his eyes at his theatrics. “Will you shut up? We’re not even thirty seconds into this video yet.” He eyed the screen consideringly. “Oh, damn, babe. You’re right. Pika, you never had a chance.”

Kurapika wanted to snap back something, anything, to retain his pride. What happened to his sense of propriety, his aloofness? The public persona of the distinguished, indifferent designer who floated above the chaos and drama of the fashion world? All of that had flown out the window of his twenty-third story loft, his heart turned to static and the only words in his head _oh holy shit_ on repeat, by the man on his television screen.

This video was from the early spring, judging by the sunlight shining through the fresh green trees in the backyard where the recording took place. Center screen was Leorio, who looked exactly the same in the video as he had when Kurapika met him earlier that day.

Except in this video, instead of the dress shirt and tie he’d been sporting at Netflix HQ, he was wearing a plain white tank top and worn, loose jeans. He looked comfortable, grinning widely at the camera as he announced to the viewer that he was happy to present a very special episode, where he would be building the wedding canopy as a gift to his sister and brother-in-law/best friend since diapers/show partner, Pietro.

Kurapika felt his heart thudding against his palm as he took in the sight of a very dressed-down, very relaxed, very confident Leorio. He looked right at home in this backyard - hell, it probably _was_ his backyard - wearing sunglasses and grinning at the camera. He walked the viewer through his design project, showing a montage of him gathering his materials and building the canopy. He reached up to wipe the sweat from his forehead, biceps curling, forearms flexing, Adam’s apple bobbing as an older woman with graying hair who could only be his mother made him take a break, passing him a glass of water. Leorio only nodded along, saying, _yes, ma,_ with the long-suffering, loving appreciation of a dutiful son. His mother said something, and Leorio laughed. The sound left Kurapika feeling like he had swallowed a sparkler.

“For the love of -” Pairo said, slapping a hand to his forehead. “This is your issue, you big baby? Your new colleague is super hot?”

“You make it sound ridiculous when you say it like that,” Kurapika sniffed.

“Because it _is_ ridiculous,” Pairo teased. He knocked his shoulder against his brother’s. “So, what is the problem here, exactly? You’ve never freaked out before when you found a guy hot. You work with hot people for a living.”

“But not all hot people smile like that,” Altair noted wisely, nodding to the television. The video showed Leorio laughing with a woman who could only be his sister. They shared the same face, the same eyes, the same dark hair, though hers was long and curled in waves down her back. She was beaming at her brother as she yanked him in for a hug, her engagement ring flashing on her finger.

Great. Kurapika was paying attention to people’s rings now. He had never bothered before, but he supposed that now - like clothes and shoes - he would always have a professional eye on the craftsmanship of peoples’ rings. And their wedding pinterest boards.

And _Leorio_ \- his laugh was just as perfect in the video recording as in person, his smile just as vivid and dazzling. There were dimples on his scruffy cheeks, and his lips made a loud smacking sound against his sister’s cheek. She loudly protested his sweaty hug even as she made no move to pull away. Leorio stepped back, laughing, reaching his arms up over his head to stretch his weary muscles, and _holy shit,_ his arms, the lean lines of his torso, the outline of his _abs -_

At least this explained the horny YouTube comments.

“Do you need a minute?” Pairo asked, quirking an eyebrow. Kurapika blushed and chugged more of his water. Then, realizing the bevy of _thirsty_ jokes that opened, he set down his can on his coaster just as quickly.

 _“No,”_ he said defensively. He looked back at the screen, at a family bonding moment captured in time. At Leorio laughing, freely and openly, at a camera. Kurapika felt like an intruder, a voyeur, and he looked away. “This was a bad idea. We shouldn’t do this.”

“Why not?” Altair asked cheerfully. “Consider it market research. Gauging your new partner’s skills.”

“I trust in his skills,” Kurapika said instantly. At Pairo and Altair’s shared eyebrow raises, a character tic Kurapika wasn’t even sure who had picked up from whom anymore, he frowned. “If he wasn’t good, Netflix wouldn’t have tapped him for this.”

“Tapped him, hm?” Altair murmured. “Interesting word choice.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Kurapika said. The buzzer on the door rang as their delivery arrived. Grateful for the distraction, he jumped up to let them in.

“Then what _do_ you mean?” Pairo asked, smirking. He pillowed his arms on the back of the couch, resting his chin on his forearms. “I know I’m teasing you, and I don’t mean _all_ of it, but you seem…”

“... unusually affected,” Altair finished for his partner. The two exchanged small smiles, and Kurapika rolled his eyes as he opened the door. He accepted the bags of food, handing the delivery driver a respectable tip and waving him back into the night.

“I’m not,” Kurapika insisted, which was a stupid thing to do. Because he was. Obviously. But his stress lay in the fact that he _shouldn’t_ have been. After all, as Pairo reminded him, he worked with the most beautiful people in the world as a matter of course. Models. Movie, television, and theater stars. Kurapika saw them all and often needed to work in close quarters with them. Between the organized chaos that was backstage at shows and the tactile experience that was final fittings, Kurapika should have been _used_ to beautiful people.

But none of them made Kurapika feel the way he did when he heard Leorio laugh for the first time. Or the way he felt when he saw the _glory_ that was Leorio in a muscle tank. None of them left Kurapika feeling like he had swallowed three packets of Pop Rox or like he had chugged diet coke and mentos. His chest felt full of champagne fizz. It was thrilling. And terrifying. He wanted it to stop. He wanted the full brunt of that smile turned on him, scorching like a sunburn, and maybe he would finally be warm.

Kurapika handed Pairo the box of crab rangoons, a wordless peace offering and plea to change the subject. Pairo accepted them with a smile. Altair chuckled to himself and tabbed over to Netflix, pulling up a different show.

“So, are they gonna give this to you for free now?” Altair asked. “You should ask your agent to put that in your contract.”

“She’ll put it into her own first.” Kurapika smiled down into his food. How lucky he was, to be given two incredible brothers when the universe did not even start him with one.

Kurapika lay in bed that night, arms under his head and staring at the ceiling. But soon, curiosity got the better of him, and he went back to his phone to pull up the _Doing It_ channel. He clicked on a playlist compiling their most popular videos and lay his head down to watch.

This was indeed research, Kurapika told himself. He was the idea man for this show, but Leorio was the one who would be bringing those plans to life. It would be irresponsible to plan entire weddings without knowing or considering his partner’s skillset or previous experience. And Leorio _was_ skilled - he had a stellar eye for detail, for taking things on paper and bringing them to life. He could woodwork, sauder, carve, and paint, as well as do a broad array of electric work and plumbing. He was _very_ good with his hands, an observation Kurapika tried to make clinically and professionally and not with the interest buzzing in his chest. This weird lust-thing would pass, he was sure. So he needed to shove it down and _focus on his damn job._

There was another reason Leorio was perfect for this show, and it wasn’t just his obvious skill or his beautiful face. Everything about Leorio was _warm._ He was free with his laughter, his emotions, and his affection. As a viewer, Kurapika felt like he was being welcomed into the fold of a large, loving family. Like he was being invited to share every private joke.

In short, Leorio was the perfect counterpart to Kurapika’s reserved, almost austere nature. Bisky had clearly done her homework when she thought of the dynamics that would go into working together to plan these weddings. Professionally, it had the potential to be a perfect match.

 _“Alright, moment of truth,”_ Leorio was saying from Kurapika’s phone screen. _“Will the load-bearing beams hold?”_ A creaking sound as ropes were pulled and wood was raised. Then a loud, high-pitched yelp and the sound of snapping beams. The audio was nothing but beeps as Leorio’s loud curses were cut out. Kurapika realized his free hand was hovering over his mouth to stifle his laughter as a very tired, pained Leorio announced to the viewer, _“They will not! Well, that’s okay. Back to the drawing board! This time let’s try…”_

Off-paper, however? Kurapika was pretty sure this job was going to send him into cardiac arrest.

~

When Bisky announced that they would be getting started “bright and early” next week, he had anticipated a conference room full of executives, producers, and directors. If they were being low-key about the planning, then it would have been Bisky, Gon, and maybe a director. But when Kurapika walked into their assigned office space with a sign reading _**Untitled Project**_ on the door, it was to find a converted break room, something comfortable and surprisingly intimate. A set of soft couches faced two armchairs of similar make, all in the same shade of Netflix-logo red. There was a coffee table, a circular desk table, and a set of four chairs in the corner, all made of the same dark wood. Kurapika peered around the room, confused. It was eight o’clock in the morning, and no one was there. He checked the door and saw that he was indeed in the right room.

 _Alright,_ Kurapika thought, more confused than annoyed. Maybe the corporate life was less strict than he’d anticipated. _This is weird._

He settled his iced coffee (with a napkin coaster - he would need to bring in a set of his own, lest they ruin the furniture) on the table, settling down to pull out his things. Laptop, check. Bullet journal/weekly planner, check. Assortment of colored pens and matching sticky notes for optimized organization, check.

He had made his way through drafting up a list of a dozen things he, Leorio, and Gon would need to sort out when the door opened. Kurapika’s pen skittered over the page as he startled, accidentally running a blue streak through his bulleted outline titled _how to select couples for the show._

Pro: they were being given almost sole creative latitude on this project.

Con: they were being given almost _sole creative latitude_ on this project.

It was already driving hyper-perfectionist Kurapika to distraction, the near-limitless possibilities and flexibility they were granted.

Except then Leorio walked through the door, box of donuts in one hand and cup of coffee in the other, and Kurapika completely forgot to freak out over his professional responsibilities and instead started to freak out over the fact that Leorio was here in their shared office space, because he worked here, and this was their first time actually talking face-to-face and they were _alone for it._

“Oh, hey!” Leorio said, catching Kurapika’s stare and beaming. “Good morning! Sorry, were you waiting long?”

“Nearly an hour,” Kurapika said. It physically _felt_ like he had selected the wrong dialogue option in one of those visual novels he and Pairo used to make fun of as kids, between the internal flinch of embarrassment Kurapika felt as the words left his mouth and Leorio’s smile dimming.

“Sorry about that,” he said sheepishly, setting down the box of donuts on the table. What he clearly had meant to be an expression of excitement at starting to work together now had the feel of a peace offering. “I’ve never had an office job before, so I kinda followed what I knew from TV shows. The nine-to-five life, you know? ‘Cept now that seems kinda silly.”

“Please, no worries,” Kurapika said immediately. Great, now he sounded standoffish for completely shutting down Leorio’s attempt at a dialogue. Was it too late to go with his burn-down-his-loft-and-hide-in-the-mountains idea? It couldn’t be, could it? He glanced at the box of donuts. “Thank you. That was very considerate of you.”

Leorio smiled some and sat down across from Kurapika. The motion sent a wave of his cologne wafting over Kurapika, something that reminded him of a bonfire beside the sea. The combination of his proximity and cologne left Kurapika feeling like his tongue had been glued to the roof of his mouth. All he could do, it seemed, was gape at Leorio. Whose entire YouTube videography he had certainly not spent the weekend binge-watching.

“So,” Leorio said. He drummed his fingers over the table. Kurapika forced himself not to stare at his hands because this was about to get _ridiculous._ He _refused_ to be this horny on day one.

“So,” Kurapika repeated. His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, turning his attention back to the task at hand. Their jobs. Their show. “So, I was going over some ideas for the show. We are going to need a title, for one. And to come up with an idea for how to select prospective couples. I am telling you now, we are doing _at least four_ queer couples per season. Assuming we have the standard eight-episode first season for Netflix. Then that ratio will go up with the length of each season. And we’ll need to find a reliable caterer to contract with, because I _cannot_ cook. And a baker - well, a patissier. Perhaps a bartender, because most of these places do not supply their own. Do you know anyone? I was looking up businesses to contact, but a personal connection will make everything move so much faster -”

Leorio chuckled quietly. “You’ve thought of everything already, I see.”

“That is why I was hired for this position,” Kurapika replied. He meant it to be joking, but it only came out snappish and condescending. Great, so he was 0-2 in the game of making a good first impression. He sipped his coffee, pinky out, and realized he looked _exactly_ like the douchebag he was acting right now. Softening his tone, he said, “There is just… so much to do. I handle it better when everything is laid out in front of me.”

Leorio sent him a commiserating grin. “That, I can relate to. I’ve never been very good at the… planning things out part.”

Kurapika tried very hard not to say _I am well aware_ out loud. But he couldn’t stop the laugh that came out, nor the way his smile widened at Leorio’s responding grin. Leorio added, “If you’ve seen any of my videos, I bet you’re not too surprised. What I’m saying is, I’m glad you’re the one doing the planning while I’m the muscle.”

“Yes, well,” Kurapika said, pointedly staring at his notebook and _not_ Leorio’s forearms. Muscle, indeed. Maybe one day he would be able to actually look the man in the eye. But that day was not today, it seemed. “I figured we could start with brainstorming ideas for the show name, then reach out to some potential caterers in the afternoon? Set up some meetings. I have a list of prospective patissiers, too -”

“Do you want to get lunch with me today?” Leorio interrupted suddenly. Kurapika choked on his coffee.

“I beg your pardon?” Kurapika gasped. He pulled a handkerchief from his bag to wipe his mouth, trying not to flush as Leorio’s grin grew.

“I was thinking over the weekend,” Leorio mused. “We’re working together for at least the next year, but in the rush of contract signings and interviews, I haven’t gotten to know you at all. That seems like an oversight. So. Do you want to get lunch with me? I know a good place on forty-third. Do you like ramen?”

Kurapika gaped, blinking dumbly. Part of him wanted to ask, _you were thinking about me over the weekend?_ As if Leorio was thinking about him at all the way Kurapika was. Another part wanted to say, _yes, that was weird, right? That we signed this paperwork and this is the first time we’re actually talking?_ A third, completely foolish part of him wanted to ask, _is this a date,_ when it so clearly and obviously was not. This was two colleagues starting a very professional relationship getting a very professional work-lunch together.

Even if one of them was six-four and built like a statue and had a smile that left Kurapika’s over-analyzing brain a mess of white static.

But all he could do was nod and hope he didn’t look as moonstruck and dazzled as he felt. “I love ramen.”

The smile Leorio gave him could have powered a city block.

They spent the rest of the morning tossing potential show titles back and forth. Leorio found a whiteboard and wheeled it into their little office. He wrote down their ideas until his messy penmanship made a physically uncomfortable Kurapika jump up to replace him. Leorio was a good sport about it, laughing at Kurapika outright when he could only reach three-quarters of the board. They left their list of half-baked ideas to stew when they stepped out just past noon for lunch. Their elevator ride and walk was quiet, walking the fine line between awkward and companionable in a way that made sense and also _didn’t._ Kurapika didn’t know what to do with his hands as they swung against his sides.

Leorio led them to a hole-in-the-wall establishment halfway down a tiny side street that Kurapika must have walked past a hundred times without ever noticing. There was only room for a long counter that fit four tall chairs and three tiny tables. Leorio waved at the elderly man behind the counter like they were old friends and took a seat at one of the tables. He settled into the rickety chair, his tall form and too-long limbs looking oddly, adorably large and out-of-place in the establishment. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Kurapika said, taking the seat across from his. The table was small enough that he could feel the phantom warmth of Leorio’s knees inches from his own. “Do you come here often?”

“Way more than I should,” Leorio said immediately as the owner of the establishment came by with some menus and took their drink orders. Leorio ordered a mint-infused water, Kurapika a Kakin-style iced coffee. It arrived a few moments later, and Kurapika immediately took a sip. It was frigid and sweet and the most delicious iced coffee he’d had in years.

“You drink a lot of coffee,” Leorio observed.

“I work a lot,” Kurapika replied.

“I know,” Leorio said. He immediately flushed, reaching a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. He looked as flustered as Kurapika felt. Finally, he said, “Ah, sorry, that was weird.” He settled his palms flat on the table. “Okay, quick confession: I looked you up online after the signing last week and watched some of the videos and interviews you’ve done.”

Kurapika only sat stock-still, his eyes wide. “You did?”

“Uh,” Leorio said eloquently. “I was curious. And I guess… I was a bit intimidated.”

 _“Intimidated?”_ Kurapika repeated, his voice higher from surprise. “But you’re…” _Capable of doing a barn raise on your own? Sexy as all hell? Six-four?_

“A numbnut who barely graduated high school,” Leorio said with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Hardly a designer who made his debut at Yorknew Fashion Week at, what was it? Twenty-six?”

“Something like that,” Kurapika said through numb lips instead correcting, _twenty-five, actually._ He was so flattered and confused and surprised he could barely speak. Not when Leorio had clearly looked him up with the same focus and curiosity and diligence as Kurapika. Not when Leorio was smiling like that, all sweet self-consciousness.

“So, I was a bit nervous,” Leorio admitted. “Seeing that I’m a handyman who’s worked a bunch of odd jobs over the years -”

“I don’t know how to fix my sink,” Kurapika interrupted loudly. He hadn’t _meant_ it to come out in a half-shout, and he internally winced. It was Leorio’s turn to blink now, taken aback and confused. His eyes narrowed a bit, his head tilted in confusion. He looked less irritated at Kurapika’s outburst and more baffled. Kurapika went on, “And… I don’t know how to change a tire. I put three holes in my wall trying to hang a shelf once, but it was still crooked and I hated it so I took it down and hung up a wall tapestry over it. Which is… also crooked. My toilet backed up once and I think I cried.”

Leorio snorted out a surprised laugh at that. His hand went to cover his mouth, but Kurapika reached forward and caught his wrist. Leorio’s skin was hot against his fingers. As quickly as he moved he jerked back, surprised at his own reaction. He never touched people without asking first. That was such a taboo in their world. Leorio did not look upset, however, only surprised. Kurapika added, “What I mean is. You have all of these life skills. You bring your own set of much-needed expertise to this enterprise. You do so many things I can’t.”

The contraction sat heavy on his lips, that damning tell of a comfort that his body and heart felt with this man that his head hadn’t caught up to yet. And Leorio only stared back at him, eyes soft and lips slightly parted, and they both jumped half a foot when the owner came by to ask what they wanted for lunch. Kurapika had not even glanced at the menu, so he allowed Leorio to place an order for them both (pork belly buns and two servings of ramen with something called a “spice bomb” on the side, whatever that meant). The owner sent them a smile as he walked away, leaving Kurapika and Leorio to stare at each other more in this anxiety-ridden stalemate.

Kurapika took another sip of his coffee. He swirled his straw around the glass shyly before he finally confessed, “I looked you up, too.”

“You did?” Leorio asked, surprised.

“Of course I did,” Kurapika said. “I was… curious, too.” It was a better way to phrase it than, _I find you so attractive my brain physically melts when I look at you but I’m trying to work around that._ “My brothers knew who you are, so they came by and we watched some videos.”

Leorio smiled at him, the motion just a bit shy. “How many?”

 _Almost all of them._ Kurapika bit his tongue to stop the admission from leaking through. With as much dignity as he could muster, he said, “Several, I didn’t exactly count. I was curious, and I wanted to see your skillset.”

“And what did you think?” Leorio asked.

“I already told you what I think,” Kurapika said. He brushed a lock of hair behind his ear. “You are talented.”

“So are you,” Leorio said. Kurapika smiled, a warmth expanding across his chest. Was it a blush? The embers of a sparking fire? It was certainly a sense of pride different from the rest of the praise he received. Those were all pleasant enough, to be sure, but always couched in terms of constructive criticism. Leorio simply saw beautiful clothes to admire. It was hard not to feel touched.

“So.” Leorio changed the subject. “You have brothers?”

“Technically, just the one,” Kurapika said. “Pairo. But his fiancé, Altair, is already a member of the family. Do you have siblings?”

“Oldest of six,” Leorio said proudly. Kurapika tried his best not to gape; and he thought _his_ childhood was noisy. Clearly his poker face failed completely, because Leorio sent him a grin. “Yep. I’m the oldest; Carmelita is next, she married my best friend growing up, Pietro, so now he’s family on paper as well; then there’s the twins, Azelio and Serena - Serena is the older one, though, and she will not let anyone forget -” Kurapika laughed aloud there, and this for some reason made Leorio beam even wider. “-then there’s Altea, and the baby of the family is Emilio.”

“You must be close,” Kurapika offered. He wondered how different his life might have been had he been the eldest of so many. He felt enough pressure to be a good role model for Pairo; how could he have done it for four more siblings?

“I hate them all,” Leorio said baldly, making Kurapika release a startled laugh again. He immediately relented, adding, “I’m kidding. I don’t, of course, but you know how it is.”

“Of course,” Kurapika agreed easily. “Pairo has been my biggest headache my entire life.”

Leorio lifted an eyebrow at Kurapika thoughtfully. He leaned back in his chair to sip his water, one long arm slung over the back of his chair. The motion brought out the definition in his arms, hinted at the sculpt of his chest. Kurapika tried really, _really_ hard to keep his gaze focused on Leorio’s, meeting that challenging, hazel-eyed stare with the chill indifference of his own. Finally Leorio relented. “Damn. You’ve got a good glare.”

“I’ve perfected it,” Kurapika announced. “A good glare and a few witty quips, and that’s half the currency in the fashion world.”

“Sounds miserable,” Leorio said lightly. There was no judgement in his tone, only casual observation. Kurapika didn’t even have it in him to be irritated. In any case, Leorio was right. He went on, “I was going to ask. Best sibling prank?”

“I sewed all of Pairo’s pockets shut once,” Kurapika shared. “That was entertaining for a week or so. Then I started hemming his pants half an inch at a time until he thought he’d had a record-setting growth spurt.”

Leorio snorted. “How did he react when it wasn’t?”

“He rigged a bucket of water to fall over my head.”

“Classic.”

Kurapika snorted. “Unimaginative.”

“Oho! Everyone’s a critic,” Leorio cried.

Kurapika shook his head and turned the tables on him. “And you? Or were you a model big brother?”

“I was the model of what _not_ to do,” Leorio scoffed. “But, the best prank I ever pulled. Hmm.” Leorio ran a long finger along his jaw as he thought. Was he doing this on purpose? The motion wasn’t overtly flirtatious. Leorio was just a tactile man who, it seemed, truly had no idea he was handsome enough he left Kurapika “I work with the most beautiful people in the world as a matter of course” with his head spinning. He brightened as he thought of one. “One time I bought this really, really realistic-looking rubber snake at the corner shop. Stuck it in Lita’s bed. She screamed loud enough to wake the dead and ma almost twisted my ear off. Except that started a family prank war of us hiding the snake all over the house that only ended when ma pulled out the snake when she and pop were…”

“Oh. _Oh,”_ Kurapika realized, and he put a hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter. It was probably not a good sign that they were halfway through their first day working together and Kurapika was already thinking things like, _I really want to meet your family._ “That sounds _horrible.”_

“It was,” Leorio said proudly. “Pop had me clear out the gutters at the next four roofing jobs. He blamed me for the whole thing, of course.”

Kurapika’s reply was cut off with the arrival of their food. A small plate bearing two pork belly buns and two massive bowls of ramen topped with pork, soft-boiled eggs, corn, and spring onions. Beside each was a tiny bowl of something crimson that was so spicy it stung Kurapika’s nose when he sniffed it.

“Careful, that stuff’s…” Leorio trailed off as Kurapika beamed in anticipation and dumped the entire thing into his bowl. “Hot.”

“I hope so,” Kurapika said. He picked up his chopsticks and swirled his noodles. “Nowhere makes things spicy enough.”

“Um,” Leorio said, looking at Kurapika’s soup with horror. Kurapika bit back a smile and took a bite of his noodles. Part of him wished Leorio had brought them to a place that would have allowed him to eat with a bit more… elegance. But then again, Leorio’s decision of a noodle bar was a very good one. He had confessed he was intimidated by Kurapika. It was hard to stay intimidated by someone who was spattering broth on themselves and slurping noodles loudly and blowing their nose from the spice, sinuses burning, thank _god._

“It’s actually spicy,” Kurapika observed, delighted. He looked up, meeting Leorio’s gaze as they both slurped their noodles. A shared chuckle and smile, and Kurapika knew that he wouldn’t have to worry anymore about whether or not he and Leorio would hate each other.

Now, the problem might be the opposite.

~

_**Pika, 1:12pm** _

_I went to lunch with Leorio today. Did not die. Fucking fuck he is so hot oh my god._

_**Pairo, 1:16pm** _

_Out of curiosity, are you this horny to his face? Like do you physically look at him like_ “👀🍆💦😍?” _Just checking. ___

__  
_ _

_**Pika, 1:16pm** _

_ajngjaerbgeuabovb fuck OFF pairo_

~

The next week passed by thus:

Kurapika and Leorio showed up early in the morning to work. Well, Kurapika got there early, and Leorio got there on time. They made up ideas for the new show’s title - nothing they liked, yet, though - and came up with a screening process for potential couples. They decided to make it as easy and accessible as possible by setting up an email for prospective couples to write in their stories. Couples were asked to send in any pictures, slideshows, or videos as they wanted. They agreed that they would go through every application together. That meant they may have to make a set window of time so as not to be overwhelmed with submissions, but they agreed it was important to consider each couple personally.

Then they went to lunch sometime between noon and one o’clock. Some days they went to the delicious, tiny restaurants that Leorio knew, the ones where the owners and staff treated him like family. Other days they went to the chic cafes that Kurapika frequented. Leorio poked gentle fun at these establishments, either for their artsy-fartsy names or their tiny plates or their hiked-up prices. If it were anyone else, Kurapika would have been annoyed by such behavior. But it was nice to be with someone who could look at the inanities of Kurapika’s ridiculous high society sphere and gently mock it. It took Kurapika down a few pegs, which Pairo had assured him he needed for _years._

And if Kurapika got to eat lunch with Leorio and watch him make faces at the “gems and jewels” that made up _a house salad, really, Kurapika, twenty dollars for a handful of spinach and three tomatoes,_ then the light ribbing was worth it.

After the first few days, Gon was released from the project he had been wrapping up and he joined them for their afternoon planning. He was less focused than Leorio, but he was good for ideas. He also helped pull up contact information and fill out Kurapika’s massive spreadsheet of prospective caterers, bartenders, bakers _(patissiers,_ Kurapika insisted, ignoring Leorio rolling his eyes), florists, and venues. He also brought his camera along with him nearly everywhere, saying that it served two purposes. First, it got Kurapika and Leorio used to the constant intrusion of having a camera pointed in their faces before they had to meet with clients. Second, Gon wanted to create some kind of highlight reel special for later on down the road, and that was such an adorable thought that Kurapika did not have it in him to argue.

At the end of the day, Kurapika went home to sketch and design. He also took this prep time to stockpile his lace supply and practiced creating wedding dresses and suits. He was not sure what he was going to do with these mock-ups, but perhaps he could add upon them for the future. It would be a waste not to put his skills to use in a wedding line.

(If Kurapika’s tux sketches all featured tall, long-limbed models with slim hips and broad shoulders, then no one needed to know but him.)

When the next Monday came around, Kurapika decided that they were ready to start calling potential vendors to contract with. He thought it was easiest to work on the less-difficult tasks first, so they started reaching out to florists first. Kurapika had very exacting standards for florists, and he created a spreadsheet based on six criteria (variety, price, vision, client interaction, and transportation). Leorio laughed at him for that, and then later on they bickered for two and a half hours in circles over which of three florists to select. Eventually they selected _Palm’s Profferings,_ a little shop owned by one Palm Siberia. She was a woman in her late thirties, tall and willowy and kind. Her prices were a bit higher than Kurapika had allotted for flowers in the budget, and she was more anxious at all times than he was on his worst days, but her flowers were organic and she had the largest variation of orchids he had seen in years. And she had a pick-up truck for her own transportation.

Well. Leorio reminded Kurapika that beautiful arrangements were more important than three cheese sticks and a slice of goopy cake, and said they could easily shift around the vendor budget.

Kurapika reminded him they could say the same for the alcohol, and added that it was _fine cuisine_ for weddings, and also it was called _fondant,_ not that he would know the difference.

Then, just as he realized he had overstepped, Leorio had snipped back that at least he’d learned _useful_ life skills.

Then they’d stared at each other in stony silence, each of them too stubborn and prideful and full of righteous anger at _how dare he use my deepest insecurity as a weapon._ They glared at one another, Gon looking on awkwardly, and then they stalked out of the room without a word.

The next day, they each returned to their desks to find a single orchid - pink for Kurapika, sunset orange for Leorio - on their desks.

Kurapika met Leorio’s hesitant gaze. He sent him a nod, a mix of recognition and apology.

For the next few days, Kurapika’s sketches were nothing but orchids from every angle. When the petals started to wither, he gently pressed the flower between the pages as a keepsake. It was an odd impulse. He had never been the sentimental - or, dare he say, _romantic_ \- type before. But nor could he bring himself to throw the flower away.

He also had never been one to get into a fight at work, so it appeared working with Leorio was bringing out all sorts of new sides of himself that Kurapika had not met before. He wondered who he would be at the end of this project.

But those thoughts were unprofessional to dwell on between the hours of eight and five, so Kurapika shoved them aside at the start of every work day. With their florist secured, it was now time to find a caterer and baker. It took a week or so to narrow down their selection to five companies. For various reasons, none of them panned out. Two lacked the experience and variety Kurapika insisted upon, and Leorio insisted the other two were far too expensive. Gon ruled out the last one by taking a single step into the restaurant and announcing with preternatural assurance and totally misplaced cheer, “there are mice living in these walls.”

Kurapika and Leorio had only exchanged a single glance and turned on their heels and walked out the doors. Kurapika did not bang his head into his steering wheel in frustration, but only because he didn’t want Gon to catch it on camera.

Two days later, Gon ran into their shared office, his camera bouncing on his shoulder and grin too wide for his face.

“Kurapika, Leorio!” He yelled. Kurapika turned from his position in front of the whiteboard, which was still full of names for their show. Gon was waving a magazine around with his free arm, the glossy pages flapping like bird wings as they soared through the air. Gon carried on, “Look at this! I think I found a caterer and pat-issy-err for us!”

“It’s _patissier,”_ Kurapika corrected politely as he accepted the magazine. It was the latest issue of _Fine,_ one of the many publications focused on arts and culture in Yorknew. Kurapika had been featured in it a few times, though he never featured on the cover. That honor, however, _did_ go to the silver-haired man with his baker’s cap on his head.

“It’s pretentious,” Leorio said as he leaned over Kurapika’s shoulder to look at the magazine. His presence was warm against Kurapika’s back, and he needed to hold his breath for a few moments to remind himself, _you are at work, you are at work, you need to focus._

 _Fine’s_ monthly issue focused on the opening of a new upscale restaurant in the wine country area just outside the city. _Something for Everyone_ had several things going for it, it seemed: it was a family establishment owned and operated by a set of four siblings; all of their food was sourced farm-to-table and made from scratch in-house; the chefs each had their own Michelin star; the baker was a _true maître pâtissier._

 _Hm,_ Kurapika mused as he skimmed the article. _Patissier and caterer in one._

“What do you think, Leorio?” Kurapika asked.

“I think we should give them a call,” Leorio answered immediately. He was close enough his breath stirred the hair near Kurapika’s ear. He forced his muscles to lock lest he shiver. “A family-owned establishment, a two-for-one deal, _and_ a snooty pedigree? All our wishes are coming true today.”

Kurapika elbowed Leorio in the stomach, hard enough for Leorio to laugh but gentle enough to leave no harm. Leorio’s laugh caressed the shell of Kurapika’s ear, and he stepped away to dig up the establishment’s contact information.

Kurapika was not surprised that the answering machine picked up. He had no doubt _Something for Everyone’s_ phone was ringing off the hook following the latest issue of _Fine._ He left a succinct voicemail for one Kalluto Zoldyck, shortly followed by an email to be doubly sure the restaurant’s business manager saw their offering.

Kurapika _was_ surprised, however, when his phone rang at two o’clock that afternoon. Leorio cut off in the middle of his sentence, looking on eagerly as Kurapika answered.

“This is Kurapika,” he said. Leorio snorted at this introduction, for some reason. Kurapika stuck his tongue out at the man before he could stop himself.

 _“Good afternoon, Kurapika, this is Kalluto Zoldyck returning your call,”_ the voice on the other end replied smoothly. Kurapika’s eyes widened and he sat up straight right away. _“Is this a good time to speak?”_

“It is,” Kurapika said, indicating for Leorio to pass him his planner. Leorio’s hands fluttered in confusion, clearly unable to pick out Kurapika’s planner from his stack of identical-looking sketchbooks, which should have been annoying, and it was a little bit, but mostly it was endearing to watch Leorio picking up different books, only for Kurapika to shake his head and keep emphatically pointing at the one he _needed._ He pointedly ignored Gon’s snickers in the background. At last, Leorio handed Kurapika the correct book, and Kurapika sent him a perfunctory nod as a thank-you. Leorio flipped him off, and Kurapika bit his lip to stop himself from laughing at the person he was trying to hire.

 _“My family was very intrigued by your proposal for your show,”_ Kalluto was saying. _“I’m calling to schedule a meeting to further discuss your show and how our establishment may fit into your vision. If you’re amenable, we would also like to offer a catered lunch and cake testing to showcase our skills.”_

“That sounds excellent,” Kurapika replied. He uncapped his pen with his thumbnail. “We are available at your earliest convenience.”

Kurapika expected Kalluto Zoldyck to offer a meeting a week or two out; to his surprise, Kalluto asked, _“Does tomorrow at twelve-thirty work?”_

Kurapika blinked. He skimmed their schedule tomorrow, though he knew full well it was completely open. “It does. Your address?”

Kalluto supplied the address. Kurapika mentioned Gon’s request to film their first introductions, asking if that was alright, and he heard Kalluto suppress a snort. _“That’s fine. My brother loves to preen for the camera, and I’m sure my sisters won’t mind at all. How many are we to expect? Have you any food allergies we need to consider?”_

Kurapika already liked this restaurant more than any of the others thus far. Between the consideration regarding food allergens and the obvious familial love lacing Kalluto’s warmly teasing, exasperated tone, he could already tell which catering company he was going to prefer. But Kurapika selected his colleagues with his head and his charts rather than his heart, so he simply replied that no, they had no food allergies to speak of, and he hung up the phone.

“What if I had food allergies, hmm?” Leorio asked teasingly, glancing up from his laptop. Kurapika rolled his eyes.

“You have no food allergies; you mentioned it at lunch that third day. Unless we are counting your aversion to spice, in which case you _do_ have a _debilitating_ food allergy.”

He spoke before he could stop himself. Immediately his neck grew hot and he busied himself with his schedule, praying Leorio did not think he was weird or creepy for remembering this piece of trivia about his coworker. If called out on it, Kurapika could simply say he had a good memory, which wasn’t even a lie. He had an _excellent_ memory, one made all the better by his lingering… interest in his new coworker.

But all Leorio did was scoff. “I just respect my taste buds and sinuses and don’t abuse them with anything with a Scoville rating higher than five hundred.”

“That includes pepperoncinis,” Kurapika told him. “Are you telling me you can’t handle _pepperoncinis?”_

“Are you telling _me_ you knew that off the top of your head?” Leorio demanded. “I call bullshit.”

“I learned it at trivia night a few years ago,” Kurapika sniffed. "As I said, I have an excellent memory."

“You play trivia?” Leorio asked. Gon was looking between the two of them like he was following a tennis match, his smile growing.

“That sounds fun, Kurapika!” Gon said. “We should all play trivia together sometime.”

“Yeah,” Leorio said. He was looking at Kurapika with an odd expression in his eyes. It was considering, thoughtful. He turned away before Kurapika could ask about it, however, and he changed the subject again. “Look, I really still fail to see the issue with calling the show _For All Time,_ I think that’s cute…”

“I think it’s campy,” Kurapika reminded him, and they went right back into their bickering again. It was easy to fall into this banter, to poke and prod and tease those smiles and soft laughs from Leorio. It was easy enough Kurapika could have almost forgotten he was supposed to be working and planning. He could have almost forgotten the soft red glow of Gon’s camera out of the corner of his eye, showing it was on and recording the beginning of something great.

 _Almost._ Kurapika looked away from Leorio’s million-watt smile and busied himself with procuring a fabric vendor.

The next day, Kurapika pulled up to the front of their building at eleven to drive across the city with Leorio and Gon. He rolled down his window at them, lifting an eyebrow from behind his sunglasses. “Getting in?”

“I love your car, Kurapika!” Gon cried cheerfully, leaping forward. Usually they used taxis to get wherever they needed to for meetings with prospective vendors, or they simply walked or used public transportation. But _Something for Everyone_ was all the way across the city and half an hour outside of it, and Netflix hadn’t wanted to comp them for the taxi fare for the hour-long trip. Hence, Kurapika showing up in his personal vehicle. “It’s so _red!”_

Leorio, on the other hand, was much less impressed.

“Of _course_ you would drive a mini cooper,” Leorio grumbled as he bent in half to fit into the car. Kurapika looked on, trying not to smirk or laugh at the sight of Leorio’s knees halfway to his chest. Clearly he was unsuccessful, because Leorio shot him a dirty look as he buckled in his seatbelt.

“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up,” Leorio replied. He pulled his own sunglasses from an inner pocket, a set of tiny round things that would have looked retro and ridiculous on anyone else.

“It’s gas-efficient,” Kurapika pointed out, biting back a laugh. “Gets great mileage. Compact.”

“Believe me, I can tell it’s _compact,”_ Leorio sniped testily. Kurapika couldn’t stop himself from laughing at that one, watching Leorio fiddle with the odds and ends under his seat that would make him a bit more comfortable and remove his knees from his ribcage. But from the sparkle in Leorio’s eyes, the twitching of his lips, the iced coffee he handed Kurapika even as he bitched endlessly, Kurapika knew the irritation was only skin-deep.

Odd. If it were anyone else, Kurapika would have long-since grown tired of the nigh-endless complaining. But Leorio turned his complaints into an art form, a stand-up special that was him griping endlessly but harmlessly about the wonders of living life above six feet. After nearly a month of working together, Kurapika already knew Leorio could get away with almost anything when it came to annoying personality quirks as long as he kept Kurapika laughing like this.

He had laughed more in the past month than in the previous six combined. Kurapika tried very, very hard not to read too far into that.

“Will you put the top down, at least?” Leorio begged. “My head is flush against the roof.”

“In the _city?”_ Kurapika gasped as he finally started driving, just to be dramatic and watch Leorio’s jaw twitch. “With the exhaust staining the seats and stinking the car up? Absolutely not.”

“Nothing can smell worse than that air freshener you have -”

“It’s Pink Sands by Yankee Candle, thank you, and I think it’s excellent for the summer.”

“It reminds me of Whale Island!” Gon chirped from the backseat.

“Thank you, Gon,” Kurapika said magnanimously. “See, Leorio? Gon likes it.”

“Gon likes everything,” Leorio said. He glanced at Gon in the rearview mirror, sipping his coffee thoughtfully. “You’re permanently cheerful, it seems.”

Gon smiled, even if the motion did not quite match the expression in his eyes. His expression dimmed a little bit. “I’m not. I just don’t want anyone to worry, so I just act like it.” 

_Oof._ A silence filled the car for a few long, uncomfortable moments. Kurapika didn’t even have it in him to mock Leorio, because he would have absolutely made the same gaffe he did. He was not very good with emotions, so he kept clutching the steering wheel and slowly maneuvered them onto the highway out of the city. They had a few more blocks of traffic to go, though.

“I get that,” Leorio finally said. He was absentmindedly fiddling with his straw. “I used to be the same way. Other people in my life had their own problems, so it felt selfish to reach out. I minimized a lot of my feelings.”

He met Gon’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “There were two problems with that take, though. One, by not addressing how I felt, the problems I was dealing with didn’t go away. They just snowballed and got bigger and bigger, until everything felt so big and complicated I didn’t know how to talk about it. And second, by doing that, I ended up hurting a lot more than if I had talked about my issues at the beginning. And I hurt both myself and the people around me.” He smiled at Gon. “You don’t need to talk to us - well, to me,” Leorio said, glancing at Kurapika like he might object. At a single glance, Leorio corrected himself. “To us. But you should talk to someone. There are always more people who want to listen and help than you think.” He sipped his coffee. “Just a thought.”

Gon was quiet for a few minutes, staring thoughtfully out the window as dozens of shopfronts slid past them. Kurapika did not miss that Gon had, at some point, switched off the camera, hiding this fractured moment of vulnerability from any future viewers.

Kurapika was not surprised when Gon finally spoke, only asking if he could have the aux cord. Kurapika passed it back to Gon wordlessly, allowing their camera man to plug in his phone. A few moments later, soft folk music was flowing from the car speakers.

Once they were on the highway, his mini coop a red blur speeding out of the city, Kurapika rolled down the windows some. It wasn’t the same as pulling down the top, but it seemed to help the claustrophobia Leorio was struggling with, if the tiny, surprised smile the man sent him was anything to go by. He stretched out the best he could, his presence somehow comically larger-than-life in Kurapika’s car. There were some moments he needed to remind himself to keep his eyes on the road. It seemed his gaze, without his permission, kept wanting to slide over to Leorio, clad in his jeans and button-up shirts that he clearly wasn’t used to, if the way he tugged at his collar every ten minutes was any indication. But here he seemed settled and comfortable and _handsome._ He looked like he belonged there, riding in the passenger seat of Kurapika’s car, pointing out roadside attractions and markets and shops and offering unasked-for critiques of his driving and his sense of direction.

Leorio looked like he could belong here, in Kurapika’s car, in his life, and he squeezed the leather of the steering wheel until his nails bit crescent moons into the material.

Once they were twenty minutes outside of the city, they were well and truly in farm country now. Instead of mile-high skyscrapers, the land around them rose and fell in rolling hills checkered with fields of crops. Every other homestead offered a stand bearing fruits and vegetables for prices a quarter of what they went for in the city; Leorio perked up a few times and asked Kurapika to pull over for some green beans once before Kurapika reminded him they had an appointment to get to. The two-lane highway was lined with wildflowers, speeding past their windows in watercolor blurs of purple, white, and yellow. The sun was shining down on them from a cloudless blue sky, and the air smelled clean and fresh and faintly like tilled soil.

It was… beautiful, frankly. Kurapika had lived in Yorknew for over ten years now, and he had never come this far out of the city. He rather regretted it now.

 _Something For Everyone_ appeared in the distance. It looked like a massive, repurposed farmhouse connected to an old barn, with a rustic, aged wooden exterior and a red slate roof. The first floor of the barn boasted a large, wraparound porch for dining, and the upper floor revealed a series of chairs on a single large balcony bedecked with flower planters and string lights. The attached house looked very much the same, except there was a small sign outside of it that read, _**Private Residence; Please Return to The Barn. Thank You!**_

 _Do they live here, as well?_ Kurapika wondered, curious and charmed in equal measure as he stepped out of the car and handed Leorio and Gon the review chart he created.

Leorio was reading the chart as they strolled up the front steps. “‘Variety, dietary considerations, taste complexity, price, vision, client interaction, transportation.’ Are you sure we’re not missing anything?”

Kurapika ignored the sarcasm in his tone. “If I did, there is a notes section.”

Leorio laughed aloud and held the door open for Kurapika and Gon to step in before him. He took three steps inside and found himself stumbling to a stop, his eyes wide as he looked around.

The barn was one massive room on the inside: shining hardwood floors; dark wooden tables bedecked with white, pink, and blue tablecloths, small floral arrangements and candles on each; a long bar that could comfortably serve at least thirty lined the back of the room, boasting an incredible array and variety of spirits; white string lights criss-crossed artfully across the ceiling, wound around the handrails of the stairs leading to the upper level balcony. This balcony offered a broad range of comfortable chairs, both inside and outside, allowing guests to sit and talk casually. Beside the door was a to-go cashier station and a case offering a series of exquisite-looking confections: cupcakes, cakes, pies, eclairs, macarons. It seemed the _maître pâtissier_ in residence had an affinity for chocolate, if the rows and rows of sweets were anything to go by.

Stationed proudly on the counter in a jar full of multi-colored, sparkling marbles and more lights were small versions of the gay, transgender, and non-binary pride flags. Kurapika found himself grinning at the sight.

“Good afternoon, are you Kurapika?”

Kurapika turned toward the voice. The speaker was in their early-to-mid twenties, with a bob of shining black hair and bright pink eyes, lined with eyeliner so fine and sharp it took Kurapika a moment to recognize it was there. They wore a black button-up dress shirt and slacks and a tailored purple blazer. A name tag attached to their left lapel read, _**Kalluto, Business Manager**_ , and a pin on the right lapel read _**they/them.**_

“I am,” Kurapika stated, stepping forward and shaking their hand. “These are my colleagues, Leorio Paladiknight and Gon Freecss. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, and on such short notice.”

Kalluto shook the others’ hands. They shared, “The pleasure is ours, truly. Since we appeared in _Fine_ magazine, our phone has been ringing off the hook with various offers. Yours is one of the few that caught our attention. Please, follow me,” Kalluto said, and they led the trio to the bar.

Kurapika had to hop and wiggle a bit to reach the tall chairs, his feet dangling below him. Leorio noticed his struggle and sent him a shit-eating grin. Kurapika considered “accidentally” kicking him with his dangling legs, the juvenile thought entering and passing through his mind rapidly. He just barely suppressed it by turning his attention to Kalluto, who had settled three mason jars onto coasters and was pouring them water.

“I’ll be your waiter of sorts, today,” Kalluto explained. “I’ll be here to answer any questions you have. My siblings are currently preparing a series of samplers for a wedding.”

“Such as?” Kurapika asked.

“I’m glad you asked,” Kalluto said breezily. “First, we have an hors d'oeuvre platter of some of our most popular appetizers: spring rolls and fried wontons, fresh empanadas, shrimp cocktail, mini stuffed peppers, caprese salad skewers. Secondly, we will be preparing a full plate each of our take on the beef, chicken, and fish options for the standard wedding meal. We can separate them, of course, if you prefer, but we want to offer you the full experience of the presentation.”

“And the experience of stealing food off of each others’ plate,” Leorio pointed out. Kalluto smirked.

“Exactly,” they said. “After that, our patissier will step out as well with a dessert platter. He will offer a series of cakes and cupcakes, as the traditional wedding fare, but you are of course invited to try anything you like.”

“Thank you,” Kurapika said. “This is really so generous of you.”

Kalluto’s pink eyes sparkled in the string lights. “Between us, we are trying to make the best impression we can.” They indicated the full bar. “Would you like anything more to drink?”

“I’m afraid I need to drive,” Kurapika said. He glanced at Leorio and Gon. “Would you care to do the honors?”

“If I must,” Leorio said with a put-upon sigh, winking at Kalluto. He pointed to the artistic chalkboard above the bar advertising a flight of local beers. “Can I get one of those flights?”

Kalluto turned to Leorio to discuss their offerings, and Kurapika took the opportunity to turn to Gon, who had been uncharacteristically quiet since the conversation in the car.

“I’m glad you came with us,” he told him softly. Gon looked up from where he had been fiddling with his camera settings.

“Of course, Kurapika!” He said earnestly. “I told you, I want to record our teams’ first interactions together. I think it’ll make a really great special episode someday, having this kind of memory highlight reel.”

“I agree,” Kurapika said warmly. “And I think that was an excellent idea. But I also just meant in general, Gon.” He tapped his fingers against the outer rim of his glass. “I know I am not a very… warm person, but I enjoy spending time with you. Moreover, I value your thoughts and contributions to this project.”

“Really?” Gon asked. He picked a fingernail at the edge of his coaster. “I know I’m not as fancy as you are. I don’t want to be wrong about things.”

Guilt curled heavily in Kurapika’s stomach. He felt like an absolute ass, belatedly realizing that all of his bickering and arguing with Leorio must have given Gon the idea that his input and ideas would not be accepted. Or, worse, looked down upon.

“Really,” Kurapika said earnestly. “I know that I can be a conceited, pretentious jerk, to quote Leorio -” Gon laughed at this, immediately plugging a fist to his mouth and stopping the sound. “- But I truly do value your input and expertise.”

“All I can do is say what tastes good and what doesn’t,” Gon warned. “I can’t talk about… about texture, or reduction, or whatever.”

“That’s fine,” Kurapika assured him. Gon still looked doubtful, but Kurapika nudged his foot gently with his own until the younger man met his gaze again. “Truly. That is the most important thing. Not price, not elegance, not complexity. All that our clients are going to care about is good food. And you are invaluable in helping us find that.”

Gon’s eyes were wide, sparkling amber in the light. He broke his gaze away from Kurapika’s, swallowing hard. “You mean that?”

“Of course,” Kurapika said. “I only say what I think, as you have no doubt learned by now.”

Gon gave a weak, almost watery laugh. At that moment Kalluto turned to him, asking if he wanted anything to drink. Gon ordered something sweet, and Kalluto _asked to see his ID, dear god._

“Are we old now?” Kurapika murmured to Leorio, who was frowning without any real anger at Kalluto.

“I hadn’t thought so, but they didn’t ask _me_ for _my_ ID,” he said huffily. Kurapika bit back a laugh and took a sip of his water.

Kalluto opened their mouth to say more, only for them to be preemptively interrupted by a clatter and a shout from the kitchen behind them.

“God- _dammit,_ Killua, stop hogging the ovens! We _told_ you we needed them first, we have chicken to bake -”

“You’ve had all morning! And I will remind you _I_ have fourteen cakes to bake today, I’ve been _more_ than patient with your lollygagging.”

 _“Lollygagging?_ What decade is it? And we need to work on a different scale than you because we can’t exactly cook things and then shove them in the refrigerator, you pompous baker asshole -”

“I am the _maître pâtissier_ of this restaurant, thank you, and more importantly I am your older brother and the one with their name on the lease, so I will bake whenever I damn well please -”

Kurapika was biting his lip to stop himself from laughing. Leorio and Gon had already lost their fight against laughing (Leorio hadn’t even tried, and Gon was giggling into his fist). Kalluto’s only reaction to their siblings devolving into outright name-calling right behind them was two bright spots of color appearing on their high-cut cheekbones.

“Please excuse me,” Kalluto said smoothly. They settled Leorio’s beer flight and Gon’s bright blue concoction onto the bar. “I am going to go check on your appetizers.”

“Of course,” Kurapika nodded. Kalluto nodded back and walked through the doors to the kitchen.

They started in on their siblings almost immediately. “Will you three _shut the hell up,_ I am trying to _work_ and get us this _fucking contract_ we all want, and you are _actively sabotaging it,_ you pin-headed, idiotic, _fucking useless gays._ Killua, shut the _fuck_ up and stop hogging the ovens. Alluka, you _also_ shut up, and get those green beans out of the steamer, because if they are mushy I am going to put them in your hair. Nanika, I love you, you are my most favorite sister, now _please_ tell me that damn appetizer platter is ready.”

Kurapika met Leorio’s gaze. They collapsed into laughter, and Kurapika had not had an ounce of alcohol but the warmth in his chest left him feeling like he had just enjoyed a glass of wine.

“So we’re hiring them?” Leorio asked Kurapika, softly enough the Zoldyck family could not hear them in the back.

“That’s not for sure yet,” Kurapika whispered back. “We still need to try their food.”

“If their food is as good as this beer, I’m going to _live_ here,” Leorio stated.

“Why are we whispering?” Gon whisper-shouted, leaning across Kurapika. His breath smelled like white rum and piña colada mix.

“Have you eaten today?” Kurapika asked.

“Can I get some of that?” Leorio added. Kurapika gently kicked his ankle, hard enough for Leorio to notice but not to cause any pain. Leorio laughed aloud.

“See? Gon’s already sold,” Leorio said. Kurapika opened his mouth to argue out of reflex when the door opened again, and Kalluto came out with two more individuals. They could only have been twins, as they shared the same round faces and long, dark hair. One wore her hair in a series of braids, the other with pink beads. The woman with the braids had eyes so dark they were almost black, pupil and iris blending into one. Her sister’s were a fierce shade of blue, like the sea or the summer sky outside. The sister with the braids wore a name tag that read _**Nanika, Head Chef,**_ and the one with the beads a tag that read _**Alluka, Head Chef**_. Both wore white chef uniforms with pink accents along the hems and pins that read _**she/hers.**_

“Hello, thank you for coming today!” Alluka said cheerfully. She was holding a platter of the appetizers Kalluto mentioned earlier. “What do you think so far of our little home?”

Kurapika looked around the walls, taking in the high, vaulted ceilings, the glow of the lights, the upper balconies. “I think it’s stunning,” he said honestly, and he reached a hand forward. “Kurapika. Thank you for having us.”

Alluka grinned. “We know who you are! Another trailblazer in the field. It’s an honor to meet you, truly.”

Kurapika found himself oddly touched by that statement. He ducked his head, feeling just a bit shy. “I… thank you. I needed to see someone like me in the fashion field growing up, so I became what I needed. I have no doubt you and your family are doing the same for the next generation of chefs as well.”

Nanika and Alluka beamed identical wide smiles. They were in their mid-twenties, but there was a spark of joy in them as they described their cooking careers that Kurapika could only describe as _youthful._ It was obvious that there was nowhere in the world these two would rather be than in their kitchen, in their restaurant, with their family.

It seemed that what Kurapika had envisioned as a quick lunch and taste-test was instead going to be a full-afternoon affair. They had been there for over forty minutes now, drinking and talking and laughing, and they’d only had the appetizers thus far. He finally cracked, ordering a sweet red wine that clashed horribly with the hors d'oeuvres, but it was too delicious to worry about the conflicting palettes. He could sip it slowly and eat the feast set out for them and he had no fear of ending up even tipsy.

The meals were exactly as good as Leorio had gleefully anticipated: filet mignon and green beans; baked chicken with some kind of white gravy and broccoli; pan-seared fish with roasted red potatoes. Everything was delicious. Kurapika even forgot a few times that he was supposed to be taking notes. But all his notes would have said was _the food is excellent_ and _I need to get this bottle of red_ and _the Zoldyck siblings are some of the funniest people I have ever met._ They had a wonderful way of making Kurapika, Leorio, and Gon feel like a part of their family, constantly teasing each other in one breath and supporting each other the next. Every now and then their brother, Killua, who had remained busy in the kitchen for the day baking, would toss in his two cents.

Eventually, the plates were cleared, the appetizer platter largely decimated down to the cornichons (“just call them little pickles, why are you like this,” Leorio had asked Kurapika, who had only scoffed and taken another sip of wine). Kalluto performed some impressive maneuver that allowed them to stack the plates and platter in their arms in such a way that they would only need to take one trip. It was a truly extraordinary feat, up to and including the moment Kalluto pushed open the kitchen door and announced, “Killua, you’re up next, stop snorting the powdered sugar and be a productive member of this household.”

Leorio was just tipsy enough from his beer flight that he laughed aloud. The sound echoed in the vast space of the barn, loud and lovely. He met Kurapika’s gaze. “Youngest sibling?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Kurapika agreed. He turned to the twins for confirmation.

Nanika nodded. She had taken out a shaker just over an hour ago and showed that she was just as capable a bartender as she was a chef. She held a cocktail glass with a Cosmopolitan in it, whereas Alluka just had a finger of whiskey in a glass. Nanika said, “Kalluto’s the baby, as you can tell. Allie and I are a couple years older than them. Killua was the middle child, as you’ll be able to tell by the _everything about him.”_

“Was?” Kurapika repeated, tilting his head.

Alluka shrugged. “We don’t talk to our family anymore.”

“Hear, hear,” Nanika celebrated, knocking her glass against her sister’s in a toast. Her smile took on a bitter edge.

“I’m sorry to bring it up,” Kurapika said.

Alluka shook her head. “It’s fine. Fuck ‘em, right?” She sipped her whiskey. “I’ve been meaning to ask, though. You _will_ be doing queer couples on this show, correct?”

“Of course,” Kurapika assured her. He glanced at Leorio. “We’ve already had this talk.”

“Why are you making it seem like you had to _convince_ me?” Leorio demanded. “I agree completely.”

 _“Did_ he?” Nanika asked. She folded her arms, smirking at Leorio. “Do you support gay rights, Leorio?”

Leorio rolled his eyes, snorting out a laugh. “I _am_ gay.”

Kurapika almost choked on his water. It was good he wasn’t drinking his wine, because he would have spat a mouthful of a lovely Brachetto d’Acqui across the table, and that was _far_ too tasty for a spit-take. He also was supposed to be working right now, a _professional,_ and professionals _do not panic_ when their smart, funny, sexy beyond reason colleague casually came out in the middle of the work day.

“He’s dodging the question!” Alluka laughed.

“Hey, me too, Leorio!” Gon cried cheerfully. He put up a hand to high five Leorio over Kurapika’s blond head. He wondered if they could feel the steam rising from his ears.

“Well, I’m bi,” Leorio amended cheerfully, accepting Gon’s high five nevertheless. His arm brushed Kurapika’s shoulder as he dropped it. “But hell yeah. We should do something together come June, provided we’re not up to our ears in wedding plans.”

The conversation moved on to discussions of queer relationships in media and how important they all found it that they use their platform to bring some much-needed representation to their community. Kurapika looked up at Leorio as he spoke, his smile wide and his hands moving energetically as he spoke. His presence was warm at Kurapika’s side, his energy magnetic. The wine in his veins left him feeling far too warm in the restaurant, and he took another large sip of his ice water as if that would help.

 _You are at work,_ Kurapika reminded himself. _You have a job to do. Don’t act like you suddenly have a chance with him, because you don’t. You are a professional. And you do not mix professional and personal._

“Ready for dessert?” Alluka eagerly clapping her hands together brought Kurapika out of the tangled mess of emotions swirling in his head and chest. He forced himself to smile through his discomfort, though to his surprise it was not hard to fake at all. In fact, despite his internal bedlam, it wasn’t fake at all.

“Please,” Kurapika said. “I am excited to see what your brother has made.”

“Sure thing!” Nanika cried. She twisted in her spot, calling into the back, “Kiki! We want some dessert!”

“Get it yourself,” Killua called back. A few moments later the door from the kitchen swung open, and a tall figure stepped out, his serving platter held aloft over his head. Kurapika recognized Killua from the cover of _Fine_ magazine. He looked like he was the same age as Gon, with pale skin and soft, fluffy hair the color as powdered sugar. He and Kalluto shared the same graceful, pointed features, and he and Alluka had the same ocean-blue eyes. The look combined created a striking image that was no less beautiful in person than on the magazine cover.

Kurapika realized that Gon had gone very, very still beside him.

“Hello, welcome to _Something for Everyone,”_ Killua Zoldyck greeted. He settled down his platter with a catlike smirk, the smile of a man who knew his food was incredible and was preparing to receive the lavish praise he deserved. Kurapika saw Gon’s brown eyes follow the flex of Killua’s forearms, swallowing thickly.

“Thank you for having us,” Kurapika said in lieu of announcing, _you’re hired, because this is going to be hilarious._ “We have been looking forward to your desserts.”

“You can’t rush perfection, I’m afraid,” Killua said. He smiled, blue eyes sweeping over them all before finally landing on Gon. Who was beaming back at Killua like he was the moon and stars all in one.

Killua looked at Gon like he was the sun appearing after a season of rain, a mix of startled and surprised and then awestruck. And then he, too, remembered he had a job to do. He blinked like he was trying to remove the spots from his eyes. “Well, I’m sure you know, but I am the _maître pâtissier_ of this restaurant -”

“How’s that different from a baker, though, Killua?” Gon interrupted. He had his chin resting in his hand as he studied Killua with bright eyes that reflected the string lights hanging from the ceiling.

Killua drew himself up to his full height. “A _maître pâtissier_ is someone who has mastered the art of the creation of sweets and pastries.”

“I get that,” Gon replied brightly. “But so are bakers, aren’t they? I’m sure you needed a lot of training. I read all about it in that magazine article. I was really curious about you, Killua!”

Kurapika almost choked on his water for the second time that day, hearing their cameraman sweetly and innocently laying the flirting on _thick._ Leorio was not so lucky, accidentally inhaling his drink straight into his nose and sinuses. Kurapika settled a hand on Leorio's back, partially to make sure he didn’t die and partially to ground himself. Alluka and Nanika exchanged matching Cheshire grins behind their brother’s back, and Kalluto openly snorted into their cup of coffee.

Killua went bright red, looking flattered and embarrassed. “I, ah,” he stammered. “That’s…”

“What’s that one?” Leorio seemed to have gotten control of himself, and he offered Killua an out to return to his more comfortable realm of baking and work. Killua straightened up immediately, his customer service persona back in full force as he explained the various offerings he prepared for them. Kurapika held his breath to quell the flood of fondness for Leorio swelling in his chest.

Killua explained his wares to them: regular white cake, chocolate ganache, mouse, cheesecakes, cupcakes. Everything was just as delicious as the appetizers and lunch, moist and flavorful without being too heavy and dense.

“Question,” Leorio said, his fork sneaking onto Kurapika’s plate to steal the last of his chocolate mousse, that _fucker,_ “I know wedding cakes use that… that gooey stuff a lot. Do you use it as well?”

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Killua said, turning away from a conversation he had been having with Gon about, seemingly, the play-by-play of breadmaking. Kurapika was pretty sure they were exchanging recipes.

Kurapika sighed. “He means fondant.”

 _“Oh,”_ Killua said, wrinkling his nose. “Absolutely not. It’s disgusting goop and it tastes like sickly-sweet glue. I use frosting. It makes decorations a bit trickier, but cake is meant to be _eaten,_ you know? Not just photographed. And half the complaints you hear about weddings are how the cake was gross because of fondant. So. In short, no, we are an anti- fondant household.”

“How do you decorate, then, Killua?” Gon asked. Kurapika wondered if he was really that genuinely interested in cake decorating or if he really was an incredible flirt when given reason to. Killua went on to start explaining how he decorated and designed. He looked about two questions away from running into the kitchen and grabbing his sketchbook to flaunt his designs.

Kurapika glanced up at Leorio. He murmured, “It looks like you win.”

Leorio blinked down at him. For a moment he looked confused, his lips slightly parted and the string lights twinkling in his hazel eyes. “Won what?”

And _why_ did he have to sound like that? His voice was low and oddly rough. It had the potential to send a full-body shiver through Kurapika, one he only suppressed through force of will and repeating _you are a professional, you are a professional_ as a nonstop mantra in his head.

“Fondant as ‘disgusting goop,’” Kurapika quoted. “I concede my defeat.”

“Hang on a sec, I’m putting this in my calendar,” Leorio said, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Title: ‘Kurapika said I was Right.’ Set as a recurring event? Yes, please.” He looked up at Kurapika, eyes wide and innocent. “Should it be an annual event? Monthly? Weekly? I’d say daily, but that would get old after a while -”

“Shut _up,”_ Kurapika laughed. He sighed, sipping his water and taking in the Zoldyck siblings. Gon had somehow looped the rest of the family into his conversation with Killua, and they were swapping cooking recipes. Apparently Gon was quite the little chef, sharing that he had done his fair share of the housework growing up with his aunt and great-grandmother. Softly, Kurapika admitted, “I hate fondant.”

“You’re only human,” Leorio said, smiling down at Kurapika.

And Kurapika… Kurapika felt as if he had been doused with a bucket of cold water. Because the sweet, laughing reminder that he was only a man coming out of Leorio’s mouth became a sinister reminder in his head. A reminder that for all that he strove for professionalism and perfection, in his life and in his career - much as the two were one and the same - he would inevitably fail to live up to the standards others set for him. That he set for _himself._

And who would he let down when he failed? How terribly might he fail? Would he ruin weddings, partnerships, careers?

Kurapika swirled his fingertip around the edge of his empty wine glass. Softly he said, “I never actually said it, but I am sorry for what I said last week. In our argument.”

Leorio blinked, looking briefly surprised. “What brought this on?”

Kurapika shrugged. “I just realized. The flower was a peace offering, but it was not an adequate apology. I was stressed and I took it out on you, which was rude and unprofessional.” He looked up to meet Leorio’s gaze. Sincerely, he added, “I’m sorry.”

Leorio went red from his neck to his ears. “It’s fine,” he said, looking into the snifter glass he was swirling in his hand. The amber liquid of the beer caught in the light. “I was feeling stupid and down on myself, so I snapped. Short temper, bad habit and all that. I’m trying to be better.” He smiled, a shy, genuine expression. “I’m sorry, too.”

Kurapika opened his mouth to speak only to find that the words could not come. His chest and throat felt tight with some kind of emotion he could not begin to untangle. Instead it only sat, snarled and chaotic, coiling tight and hot in his chest. There was something about that moment, about seeing Leorio flushed and smiling, his eyes glowing in the lights, that made Kurapika remember how he felt in the car earlier. When he looked at Leorio and thought that he might just make a place for himself in Kurapika’s life. And now, Kurapika found himself wishing, wondering what life might just look like if Leorio opened a space for him in his.

“Kurapika?” Kalluto interrupted his train of thought. They came bearing a cup of coffee and a small, knowing smile. For a moment, Kurapika wondered if they sensed his rising anxiety or his heightened, confusing feelings. But they only asked, “Do you want some coffee? We can discuss the further details of that vendor contract.”

It took Kurapika a few moments to gather his wits and respond. Yes. Vendors. Contracts. The show. Work. He was at _work._

Kurapika picked up the mess of emotions in his chest and buried them deep.

He made himself smile. “Yes, of course.” He pushed his empty plate away. “Let’s get to it.”

“Does your show have a name yet?” Killua asked as everyone settled in to discuss details. Kurapika pulled out his notebook to ensure he did not forget a Netflix-sanctioned/ordered clause.

Kurapika swallowed his tongue. Fuck. A name. A _name._ He was worrying about being a letdown in the future, and he forgot all the ways he was failing _now?_ They couldn’t even agree on a show title.

He opened his mouth to say, _we’re working on it, sorry for sucking at my job_ , but his words were stayed by Leorio settling his fingertips lightly on his knee. In his anxiously spinning thoughts, he hadn’t realized his leg was bouncing hard enough to shake his chair.

“Right now, it’s a soft title of _Light of My Life,”_ Leorio chuckled. “I know it sounds like a soap opera title, but it’s a nice blend of heartfelt and campy.”

He did not look at Kurapika, though the warm brush of his fingers as he pulled away left a spark that created a wildfire that engulfed Kurapika’s entire body. Had someone turned up the heat in the restaurant? Was the AC broken? He had to stop himself from tugging at his collar.

“I love that!” Alluka cried. Nanika nodded along happily, and Kalluto nodded along as they wrote the show title at the top of their contract.

“I do, too,” Kurapika agreed quietly, glancing up at Leorio. He felt himself smiling up at the man, a heady, warm feeling expanding in his chest and leaving him lightheaded like he had chugged a bottle of wine. But the only glass he had had that day was long since out of his system. It bubbled up like champagne bubbles no matter how hard he tried to tamp them back down.

No, there was something else entirely that was making Kurapika feel almost drunk at three o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon in this beautiful, rustic restaurant.

 _Oh, fuck,_ Kurapika thought as he made himself turn back to Kalluto and discuss the terms of their arrangement. _Oh, fuck, I’m in trouble._


	3. a language that i never knew existed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kurapika and leorio embark on their first wedding for their show! it goes about as well as you might expect, which is certainly better than kurapika anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have realized that the fun, cutesy fanfic i planned is, in fact, going to be a MONSTER, because each chapter covers 1 wedding each. this came out to around ~15k words of fluff and fun and a touch of angst!
> 
> chapter title taken from "all this and heaven too," by florence + the machine.

Kurapika paced the length of his apartment.

This was not unusual. Pacing and, more generally, any kind of frenetic outlet for his stores of anxious energy were common to him. And this morning, he was full of it.

Their preparations for the show were done: the vendors selected, the contracts notarized. The _Light of My Life_ email had been open for the past three weeks for couples submissions, and now he, Leorio, and Gon had over a hundred applications to sift through. Bisky had assured them that they did not _have_ to come into the office for this step. So Kurapika had offered his loft to host Leorio and Gon for the week it was likely going to take the trio to get through all of the applications. At Gon’s request, the Zoldycks were also coming by to watch videos with them a few times. Kurapika was not sure _why_ this was necessary, but he supposed the reason started with “K” and ended with “illua Zoldyck” and had blue eyes that shone like starlight and hair like freshly-fallen snow.

So, that was exactly how Gon answered when Kurapika asked. Leorio had laughed hard in the back corner where he was organizing submissions into a more manageable watch order.

“Gon, you sweet-talker,” he’d chuckled. “Maybe I should take lessons from you.”

“You don’t need lessons, Leorio,” Gon had answered, his tone chipper. “All you need to do is be honest, that’s what my Aunt Mito taught me. ‘Be honest and kind, and good things will come your way.’”

“She sounds very wise,” Kurapika had replied, and then he returned to the table to organize with Leorio.

Now he was pacing his apartment on a Monday morning, anxiously checking his watch every third loop. It was five minutes to nine, which meant the others should be there anywhere from “any minute” to “maybe in an hour.” Coffee burbled cheerfully in the pot, making the air smell like bold roast. He felt very dressed-down in his jeans and a short-sleeved collared shirt, the closest to “casual” he could stomach while still working from his apartment.

This whole thing still felt like a bad idea. It danced dangerously along the line between _personal_ and _professional_ that Kurapika tried so very hard to separate. But Gon said that they didn’t have a rolling TV to stream the submissions on in their office, and it would have been a bit cramped with the three men sitting in front of a laptop screen. Kurapika made the mistake of mentioning his spacious loft-slash-studio, to which Leorio said “of _course_ you do” and Gon excitedly said he wanted to see. So this hare-brained scheme was born.

The buzzer to his apartment went off, and Kurapika just about jumped out of his skin. He hit the button to speak, saying, “Hello?”

Gon’s eager shout of _“Kurapika, let us innnnn!”_ almost drowned out Leorio’s droll, _“This is your wake-up call, Mr. Kurapika. We come bearing breakfast.”_

Kurapika bit back a scoff at whatever Leorio and Gon had brought that they considered _breakfast,_ but he let them in anyway. A few minutes later there was a melodic knock on his door as Gon tapped something long and syncopated. Kurapika opened the door, his gaze sweeping over Leorio and Gon. Fortunately, Gon’s camera was nowhere to be found this morning.

“Good morning,” he greeted, stepping aside and ushering the men inside. “Please, come in, make yourselves comfortable. Also, leave your shoes at the door.”

“Wow, Kurapika!” Gon cried eagerly, rushing past him. He toed off his shoes and rushed further inside. His eyes were wide with wonder as he peered around the space. “It’s so big! I love it! And the view is so pretty!”

Gon ran to the window to take in the view. Kurapika shook his head fondly as Leorio stepped in, quietly shutting the door behind him.

“Your loft is a penthouse,” Leorio observed with interest. His gaze swept over the kitchen, the open floor plan, the living area, the stairs up to Kurapika’s bedroom area and bathroom. His eyes widened when he saw the section that Kurapika had converted into his studio. _“Whoa.”_

He gently shoved the bag of food into Kurapika’s hands and walked towards the area. Kurapika reflexively stiffened, his nerves spiking the way they always did when someone saw his unfinished projects. He wasn’t sure why, but something about people seeing his work before it was done left him feeling oddly exposed. He felt like a bug that had been flipped over onto its back, soft underbelly revealed to an often vicious, cutting audience.

But Leorio only tucked his hands into his pockets, his head tilted in interest as he walked around the mock-up of a dress Kurapika had been working on. The bodice was fitted on top and flowing from the waist down. Instead of a more traditional train, there was a cape of flowing, gauzy strips of fabric attached to each of the sleeves. The fabric was a bright eggshell-white, simple and classic.

“This is beautiful, Kurapika,” Leorio observed quietly.

Kurapika’s fingers curled tighter around the brown bag. There was no unspoken _but_ to Leorio’s praise, no _what if you did this, have you tried…?_ There was only soft appreciation. Kurapika swallowed thickly.

“You really are talented,” Leorio said with such sincerity Kurapika itched. Damn it all, the man was _so nice._

“Thank you,” Kurapika said stiffly. The kindness was making his allergies to emotion act up. To break the odd tension growing in the space between their locked gazes, Kurapika looked down at the bag in his hands. It smelled like bagels and bacon grease and melted cheese. “Breakfast sandwiches?”

Leorio smiled, a knowing expression in his eyes as he caught on to Kurapika’s train of thought. But all he did was carefully step out of Kurapika’s studio space. “Of course. And some hash browns. They’re from this bodega near my studio, you won’t find a better breakfast sandwich in this city. Also, when I say studio, I mean studio apartment. You know, a regular tiny thing about the size of your kitchen over there. Oh, is that coffee?”

“Hm? Oh, yes,” Kurapika said, blinking himself out of his reverie. He settled the bag onto the coffee table and went to his kitchen area. He poured Leorio coffee and slid it to him across the table. “Sugar is in the little dolphin ceramic right there, and creamer or milk is in the refrigerator. Help yourself.”

“Oh, this is _adorable,”_ Leorio observed with delight as he reached for the sugar. He grinned, using the dolphin’s fin and the attached tiny spoon to scoop sugar into his mug. “I love it. Does it have a name?”

“Why would I name my kitchen appliances?” Kurapika asked. He reached for a second mug to give Gon. He was _not_ going soft, he was simply being a good host, he told himself as he poured coffee and added a little milk exactly the way Gon preferred. He ignored Leorio’s smirk as he went for a third mug.

“Because it’s just a cute and fun thing to do,” Leorio said. He sipped his coffee, forearms leaning against the kitchen island. It was borderline insane how he could make himself comfortable just about anywhere, Kurapika thought. He was unbelievably jealous of how Leorio could carve out a place for himself anywhere he went. Endlessly patient, endlessly adaptable. Kurapika wished he could be like that. “Altea did it when we were kids.”

Kurapika sipped his coffee thoughtfully. Finally he conceded, “Alright. That is _very_ cute.”

Leorio beamed at him, sipping his coffee. The domesticity of it kicked Kurapika in the chest with all of the abrupt, unexpected force of a leaping donkey, and for a few moments he could not breathe. Clearing his throat, Kurapika tore his gaze away to make his way to the living area.

“We should get started,” he announced. He settled his cup on a coaster and started getting everything ready to go. “I have everything queued on my computer, ranging from the earliest wedding dates this year and up through the new year. I’ve created a spreadsheet for us to each write on for our thoughts.”

“Can I make a suggestion?” Leorio asked, meandering over to the couch and settling down in the middle. “I’d like to offer a different criteria.”

Kurapika folded his arms over his chest. “And you couldn’t bring this up before?”

“I figured your way was a good backup,” Leorio replied with a grin. “Or something good for you to use for yourself. But I’d like to try something different.”

Kurapika nodded, indicating for him to continue. Leorio siad, “Three questions.” He held up his fingers. “One: do you _want_ to work with the couple? Two: does this wedding inspire you to create? And three: does this pair have that certain _je ne sais quoi?”_

Kurapika lifted an eyebrow. He translated, “‘I don’t know what?’”

“I don’t know, either,” Leorio replied sincerely. Apparently he was not familiar with the literal translation of what he said, and Kurapika had to swallow a sickening wave of fondness. “It’s just something you feel. Right here.” He thumbed at his chest right over his sternum.

Funny he should say that, Kurapika thought. That was exactly where his chest had been shuddering oddly since he got his first glimpse of Leorio’s face.

Kurapika scoffed out a soft laugh. “I mean - you know what? It doesn’t matter.” He looked over his spreadsheet with its neatly arranged rows and its near-twenty different criteria. Then he looked back at Leorio.

“Sure,” he agreed, and he settled himself down into the spot beside Leorio. He craned his neck to peek at Gon, who appeared to be greeting the plants on Kurapika’s windowsill individually. “Gon? Are you joining us?”

“Yeah!” Gon called. He half-jogged over to sit in the last available spot. As he dug into the bag for a breakfast sandwich, he said, “I was looking at your plants. You’re taking really great care of them, Kurapika! You have a good green thumb.”

“Thank you, Gon,” Kurapika said. “That is high praise, coming from you. You gardened home on Whale Island, correct?”

“Yes!” Gon replied. “I haven’t been able to garden as much here, but there’s a little room on the fire escape right outside my window, so I’ve been able to do something. I grow my own tomatoes and peppers, though I’m disappointed I can’t grow cucumbers as well here.”

“You two would both get on with my ma like a house on fire,” Leorio said. He reached into the bag for his own food, passing Kurapika a sandwich before he even had to ask. They exchanged short smiles with one another as they settled in to watch their first video.

Leorio’s arm brushing against his kept him distracted for the first three submissions. After that, however, he found himself settling comfortably into his preferred corner on the couch, his back pressed into the corner between the armrest and cushion and his knees tucked up beneath him, bare toes inches from Leorio’s thigh. He cradled his coffee to his chest in both hands, settling in comfortably as they watched the submissions.

The week passed by simultaneously slowly and all too quickly. Kurapika took notes using his original criteria, but his mind kept coming back to the questions Leorio had asked him to consider: _do you want to work with them? Does this wedding inspire you to create? Does this pair have that certain something?_

So Kurapika stopped considering the array of over twenty considerations on his spreadsheet. Instead he made himself sit back and listen and watch. And instead of writing notes, he wrote down the names of the couples that interested him. Perhaps it was their dynamic, or their story; perhaps something in their vision for the wedding that left Kurapika doodling in the margins of his sketchbook. Some were color schemes, messy scribbles of centerpieces, wedding canopies or bouquets; others were cuts of a dress, the pattern of a veil, the embroidery of a suit. The images flashed in his head with the same intensity as the lightning strike or the fortune-teller’s portent. In those moments, it was all he could do to sketch out the bare-bones of the idea, lest he be swept up in the urge to create.

One time, Leorio tried to peer over the wall of Kurapika’s knees to peek at his notes. Kurapika pulled the papers flush against his chest like they were a diary, shooting Leorio a wordless glare. Leorio’s reply was just a sheepish, apologetic grin and a gentle knock of his elbow against Kurapika’s shins. Kurapika nudged Leorio’s thigh with his foot to show his apology was accepted, provided he did not pry again.

The second week, their watch party featured not only Leorio and Gon but Killua as well. Killua arrived with Gon, bearing freshly handmade croissants that the two had baked together. This little tidbit of trivia made Kurapika and Leorio exchange subtle smirks, though judging by the pink blush creeping up Killua’s neck, they were not subtle enough.

“Didn’t know you knew my mother, Kurapika,” Killua said, craning his neck to take in the loft. “Since you so clearly took interior design cues from her.”

Leorio laughed aloud; Kurapika scoffed into his coffee. “Don’t be rude, Killua. I won’t share any of my design tips with you.”

“Seeing that you’re about three steps away from putting lace doilies on each surface…” Killua muttered, letting his words trail off as he meandered into Kurapika’s studio section.

“I assure you, my lace does _not_ go onto the furniture,” Kurapika said. He reached into the container and snatched up a croissant. He bit into it, flaky, buttery pastry melting in his mouth. “Oh, shit, that’s good.”

“Don’t sound so surprised; you hired me to bake for you, after all,” Killua replied. He slowly walked around the same dress Leorio had so admired yesterday. He appraised Kurapika’s stitches and lace with an artist’s discerning eye. “The papers didn’t do your work justice. You truly are a master, Kurapika.”

Kurapika looked away, feeling his cheeks flush. He was unused to being lavished with such praise; generally, his work was studied critically, every stitch and fiber of fabric dissected for parts. Experiencing Killua’s approval, Gon’s admiration, and Leorio’s immutable awe left him both immensely flattered and incredibly embarrassed.

Not unlike the way Killua went red and stammering when Gon approached him with a cup of coffee Kurapika had brewed and a napkin with a croissant on it. Gon smiled at Killua in that earnest way of his, saying gently, “You’re a master, too, Killua. You both are _virtuosos_ of your crafts.”

Damn, Kurapika thought. Melody might have competition for her title as the best flirt he knew.

“Are you done?” Leorio asked Killua and Kurapika. “With your weird pissing contest?”

Killua snorted, accepting the coffee and croissant from Gon and moving to take one of the armchairs. “Yeah, we’re done. Kurapika, you win.”

“Obviously,” Kurapika replied. He approached his spot on the couch with his own cup of coffee and a second croissant. He waved a hand to indicate to Leorio, _scoot._ “It’s _my_ apartment after all. Besides.” He fluttered a hand to indicate himself and all of the aloof top energy he exuded.

Killua snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

“I can’t believe _I’m_ the one saying this, but can we do our jobs now?” Leorio asked again, slightly louder. He was grinning as he said it, though, clearly entertained by their antics. Kurapika settled in beside him, making himself comfortable as they prepared for another day of footage.

The first few hours passed without much that interested Kurapika. Then they pulled up the next application, and their reactions were immediate:

“No kidding?” Leorio said.

“Who’s that?” Gon asked.

“Huh,” Kurapika observed.

“Mother _fucker,_ now I owe Alluka a hundred jenny,” Killua swore. He reached his hands up to rifle through his hair, running through the white curls until they stood on end from the static. Gon leaned over the arm of the couch to pat the hair back into place; Killua allowed it, his shoulders loosening and his cheeks going pink again.

Food Network stars Menchi and Buhara beamed from Kurapika’s television screen, their hands interlaced and a white diamond gleaming brilliantly on Menchi’s left hand.

“We’ve got to pick them,” Killua said, pointing at the screen. “My sisters will _riot_ if you don’t.”

“You’re not the one planning this,” Leorio reminded Killua.

“No, I’m just cooking for it,” Killua said. “Do you not want two Michelin-star chefs and a _maître pâtissier_ cooking for two of the Food Network’s most popular personalities? Do you want to miss out on the instant buzz the show will get for featuring two celebrities in the first season?”

“Bossy thing, aren’t you?” Leorio asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Killua sniped back. Kurapika sighed.

“He makes a good point, Leorio. Besides, I _would_ like to work with them. I can think of many ideas already for a wedding befitting their ideals. Moreover, it would be excellent publicity, especially for a first episode of a first season.”

Leorio swiveled his head to meet Kurapika’s gaze. _“I_ know that. We _all_ know that. But Killua clearly doesn’t need to get a bigger head about it from us telling him how right he is.”

Killua laughed. “No need to worry. I’ve plenty of confidence in my abilities.”

“In any case,” Kurapika said, speaking before Leorio’s eldest brother instincts kicked in and the two just started bickering for the rest of the day, “I think these two work very well as a first couple.”

“That puts us where?” Leorio asked. “One of eight?”

“Yes,” Kurapika replied.

“Damn,” Leorio swore softly. He wiped blearily at his eyes. “Well. Let’s keep at it, then.”

They did. And over the next week, they added six more couples: dog trainer Squala and accountant Eliza; psychiatrist Knov and detective Morel Mackernasey; high-powered attorney Morena Prudo and college professor Theta; zookeepers and researchers Pokkle and Ponzu; small business owners Canary and Amane; and veterinarian Knuckle Bine and ER nurse Shoot McMahon.

It was on a sunny Friday afternoon when they found their eighth and final couple. Leorio clicked play on one of the last videos before settling back into the couch, the bare skin of his arm brushing Kurapika’s. But even the electric jolt the proximity sent straight through his stomach was instantly forgotten in the flash of shock, confusion, and horror he felt as two _very_ familiar faces appeared on his television screen.

_“Hey, Pika!”_ Pairo greeted, beaming at the camera. Altair, engagement ring flashing on his finger, waved as well. _“And Leorio! You know who we are, of course, but for anyone else watching - my name is Pairo, author of the bestselling_ The Phantom Thief _book series -”_

_“Stop selling your books, darling, we’re trying to get a free wedding, not a movie deal,”_ Altair interrupted. He tucked his hand into the crook of Pairo’s elbow. His blue eyes peered up at Pairo adoringly, his deep brown hair shining in the light through their apartment window. Altair turned back to the screen. _“And I’m Altair Aquilae, a pediatric surgeon at Yorknew General…”_

“Oh, _hell yes,”_ Leorio cried.

Kurapika was too busy staring at his brothers’ beaming faces to reply. Gon was nodding emphatically along, agreeing that he for some reason thought it was a good idea that wouldn’t end in disaster if Kurapika put together his brother’s wedding for a national audience. As if Kurapika wouldn’t have done it anyway, if Pairo had just _asked._

That dramatic little asshole. He was _dead_ to Kurapika.

“I’m not even sure we _could?”_ Kurapika said instead of calling Pairo and telling him he better hire a ghostwriter to finish his book series, because Kurapika was going to _kill him._ “I mean… he’s my brother. Isn’t that a conflict of interest to put on a wedding for family and friends?”

“It’s a TV show, Kurapika, not a scholarship fund,” Leorio replied. He shrugged. “At least we can ask Bisky about it. As executive producer, she gets final say, right?”

“That is correct,” Kurapika agreed uneasily. He penciled in his brothers’ names and wedding date for New Year’s Eve in his sketchbook, hoping he would not need to erase it and yet even more worried that he would soon be marking it down in ink.

~

The good news of Bisky’s workaholic tendencies meant that instead of waiting until Monday to learn what she thought of their team hosting Pairo and Altair’s wedding, they learned that she was all for it that same Friday evening. Her email in response to Kurapika’s query talked about emotional season finales and all sorts of other sentimental nonsense.

The bad news was that meant Pairo’s stay of execution was denied. The door to his loft had barely swung shut behind the others when Kurapika yanked his phone out of his pocket and dialed. He did not give Pairo a moment to greet him when the call finally connected.

“I am going to _pummel you into the ground,”_ Kurapika ground out.

Pairo only laughed. _“I take it you got to our submission, then?”_

“You could have told me you were submitting!” Kurapika cried. “I looked like such a dumbass not knowing -”

_“Pika, I guarantee no one thought that but you.”_

“-and in any case!” Kurapika carried on, ignoring Pairo’s interjection. “I would have planned your wedding regardless!”

Pairo sighed. _“Pika, that’s part of why we submitted. Because you would have taken it on yourself to plan our wedding, and you would have driven yourself to distraction to make it ‘perfect.’ At least this way, you’ll be paid for it, and it’ll take a wedding out of your rotation.”_

Kurapika sighed. He pinched his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. He had to grant that these _were_ all good reasons to submit applications. But that only accounted for half of the story. He asked, “Then why not tell me? Why spring it on me?”

_“Well,”_ Pairo started. Kurapika could picture the sheepish grin on his face from across the city. _“We meant it as a sort of harmless prank, just to surprise you, but clearly that fell flat.”_

“Clearly,” Kurapika agreed.

_“And we knew you would have asked us not to,”_ Pairo said. _“Because of the reasons I already said, and also because we know you try to keep your personal and professional lives so private. But weddings are deeply personal events regardless.”_

Kurapika sighed. “I’m still mad at you.”

_“That’s fair,”_ Pairo replied agreeably. He was quiet for a few moments before he asked, _“Does that mean you’re planning our wedding for the show?”_

Kurapika huffed out a soft laugh, running his free hand through his hair. “Yes, Pairo. I am planning your wedding.”

Pairo wooted loudly across the airwaves. _“Pika, that’s great! Thank you so much! We can’t wait to meet Leorio!”_

Kurapika groaned. “This wasn’t just some long-winded attempt at embarrassing me in front of him, is it? Or playing some bizarre game of matchmaker?”

_“Oh, no, not at all,”_ Pairo assured him with a confidence that somehow did not soothe his brother’s reservations. _“For one, we trust you can embarrass yourself enough without our help. For another, I don’t think it’s going to take that long to get things sorted out with you two.”_

“You should start writing romance novels,” Kurapika said acidly. “Since you seem so set on writing one here.”

_“Is there truly nothing there?”_ Pairo asked. Despite Kurapika’s warning tone, he sounded as casual and cheerful as he always did.

“I met him a month ago,” Kurapika replied. He started digging through his pantry to find something to make for dinner; there was a niggling, uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was choosing to treat as hunger and not as anything else. “Even if I _was_ interested in him like that, which I’m not, or if it was even possible to act on it, which it is _not,_ because we _work together,_ it is far too soon to answer that question.”

_“You’re protesting this very strongly,”_ Pairo replied thoughtfully.

Kurapika rooted through his cabinets, gritting his teeth. Nothing looked like it would satisfy the hunger pangs in his stomach. He turned his attention to his refrigerator. “Why are you pushing this so much lately? Do you think that working on this show is going to flip some switch in me that will suddenly make me amenable to pursuing a serious, long-term relationship? That I’ll wake up tomorrow and realize how lonely I’ve been without someone keeping my bed warm and hogging all my sheets?”

Pairo snickered. _“I think you’d be the cover-hog in any relationship, but that’s not what matters here.”_ He thought for a few moments. Kurapika took advantage of his distraction to dig out a frozen dinner from his freezer. Finally, Pairo said, _“How do I put this? In some ways, Pika, I do think you’re lonely. Ever since you moved to Yorknew, you’ve been solely focused on your career. Which is completely valid! You had dreams and goals and nothing and no one was going to slow you down. Your ambition and dedication are two facets to your personality I endlessly respect and love about you, then and now.”_

“But?” Kurapika prompted. Pairo sighed.

_“But I also think that in pursuing those goals, there were some other things that fell by the wayside. I don’t just mean a lack of serious romantic relationships. No one needs a partner to complete their life. But sometimes I worried that you were so focused on your career, you forgot that friendship was important, too. The only friend I’ve heard you mention with any degree of consistency in the past near-ten years has been Melody.”_

“What does Leorio have to do with this?” Kurapika asked. That churning feeling in his stomach was getting worse, and he tucked his phone between his ear and shoulder to rip the carton open. He stuck the frozen dinner into his microwave.

_“Maybe nothing,”_ Pairo mused. _“Maybe everything.”_

Kurapika waited a few moments for Pairo to add more. When he didn’t, he huffed out a quiet scoff of a laugh through his mouth and nose. “And you call me dramatic.”

_“Dramatic tension is an important tool in every writer’s arsenal,”_ Pairo told him sagely. Kurapika laughed weakly. _“And I didn’t say anything because it’s not for me to know or decide. I can just tell you two things, Pika. One: I’ve known you for twenty-five years. And I have never, not once, seen you as flustered as you were the first time we were watching Leorio’s videos together. I’ve never seen you look at someone the way you look at Leorio.”_

Kurapika swallowed thickly. “And the second thing?”

Pairo laughed. _“I knew I was going to marry Altair less than a week after we met.”_ Kurapika made a sound of disbelief. _“I know it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t mean that I was ready to elope at that moment. I wasn’t even in love yet. I just remember we were on our second coffee date, and he was pouring two sugars into his coffee even though it was a caramel macchiato and it was already far too sweet, and he was bitching at me about a fellow surgeon, and I remember knowing that there was a space in my life that I hadn’t even known was there, just waiting for him to fill it. It didn’t mean my life was incomplete. But Altair came along and I knew what I felt for him was different from how I had ever felt about anyone.”_

Kurapika did not reply. He was too busy turning Pairo’s confession over and over in his head: _there was a space in my life that I hadn’t even known was there, just waiting for him to fill it._ He pictured his brother’s apartment, with Pairo’s grand writing desk covered in papers and outlines and his desktop and the armchair near the fire that had always been covered in papers and clothes until one day Kurapika came by to visit and found that Altair had settled into that chair like it had been built for him.

The chair in Pairo’s study. The passenger seat of Kurapika’s car. Inconsequential pieces of scenery, little facts of their lives, their emptiness unnoticed until they were filled, and then everything fell into place.

_Altair came along and I knew what I felt for him was different from how I had ever felt about anyone._ That tangled feeling like someone was fastening elastic bands around Kurapika’s lungs was back. They twisted and snapped and Kurapika had to try and remember how to breathe through them.

The beeping of his microwave pulled him back to reality. He jumped slightly, turning to open the door and pull out the plastic tray. “I see. Well, Pairo, this has been very… illuminating. You are much more romantic than I ever realized, I think. And while I am very happy for you, I do think our situations are different. In any case, I was just about to sit down to dinner. I’ll talk to you soon?”

Pairo sighed. _“Of course, Pika. Just… do with that knowledge what you will. I’m always here to talk if you need to.”_

“I know you are,” Kurapika said softly. He twirled a fork through his Lean Cuisine, found half the noodles were still frozen together. Released a sigh of his own as he put the plastic back in the microwave. “And I will tell you if I need anything. Thank you, Pairo.”

_“Night, Pika. Love you,”_ Pairo said, and he hung up after Kurapika responded in kind. He let his hand hang loosely at his side as he stood in his kitchen, staring vacantly through the microwave glass as his dinner rotated slowly on its little plate.

Kurapika sighed, reaching up to rub his pointer and middle fingers against his temples. Damn Pairo and his emotional intelligence getting into his head.

He turned away, leaning against the kitchen island and surveying his apartment. He could see the sunset shining pink, purple, and blue through his windows, bathing the skyline in a kaleidoscope of colors. Inside, his loft was equally awash with color: the orange sunset glowed on the wedding dress display, on his white couch, his countertops. It was beautiful, elegant, chic.

Kurapika pictured his loft as he had seen it this week: Killua and Gon sitting altogether too close for new acquaintances on his couch; Leorio’s too-long form sprawled out on the cushions, or leaning against the kitchen island alongside him. Killua half-destroying the kitchen making them all lunch with whatever Kurapika happened to have laying around, and he and Gon laughing together as they cleaned it up. Leorio catching his eye as all this was going on, the two men exchanging knowing smiles as they returned to their job of selecting whose wedding dreams they were going to bring to life. Leorio sitting beside him on his couch, the bare skin of his arm so close to Kurapika’s.

Now his studio felt… emptier, somehow. Too quiet. Lonely.

Kurapika’s gaze lingered on the space on the countertop where Leorio had relaxed earlier in the week, coffee cup in his hands, forearms on the table, skin lit up by the sun shining in through the windows. Something in Kurapika’s stomach _twisted._

Irritably, he yanked his mostly-thawed lean cuisine out of the microwave and sat at his kitchen island. He dug his fork into the center and heard the sound of cracking ice. The metaphor struck Kurapika right in the face, and all he could do was put his face in his hands and laugh.

~

Menchi and Buhara were two major stars in the Food Network’s current heavy rotation. They traveled the continents in their RV searching for and celebrating cuisine made with love, covering everything from noodle stands they came upon on the side of the highway, to sit-down mom-and-pop restaurants, to fine dining establishments that had been passed through multiple generations. Rumors abound that they were in a relationship, but for two people who put so much of their lives on camera, they were remarkably private when it came to their personal lives. Indeed, the first time Kurapika saw anything resembling confirmation that they were even _dating_ was their video submission.

The couple was _thrilled_ when they received the call that their application was accepted, which Kurapika found heartening. He half-anticipated that the celebrity couple would have assumed they would be selected for the show, so Menchi’s squeal of delight and Buhara’s booming laugh were welcome surprises. He wondered if he ought to reconsider his assumptions and realized that perhaps he had run with a less-than-stellar professional crowd before.

That, or _all_ engaged couples were this ridiculously happy and cheerful about everything. Kurapika ultimately decided it was probably a healthy mixture of both.

When he shared these thoughts with Leorio, his colleague laughed aloud. “It helps that the wedding is free.”

Kurapika nodded, conceding the point. “That is fair.”

Menchi and Buhara were in the city already for work relating to their own show, so they came by at two o’clock that afternoon to get things started. Menchi was a tall woman, long legs set off by short shorts and heels. She wore a loose, flowing shirt and styled her hair in the shape of a five-pointed star. Buhara was a large man, dressed comfortably in a t-shirt and jeans. He came bearing some freshly-baked bread they had picked up from a shop on the side of the road. Leorio accepted it with a grin.

“Is this made with rosemary?” Leorio asked. Buhara chortled.

“It is! Good nose.” He settled into the couch beside his fiancé.

Kurapika settled back into his chair, his back against the cushion and one leg crossed over the other to create a makeshift desk for his sketchbook. “Can I get either of you anything?” he asked, seeing that he did not currently have his nose buried in a loaf of bread. “Water, coffee, tea?”

“No, thanks!” Menchi said. She lifted her travel cup. “Already got some at that little brewster coffee place across the street. You, babe?”

“I’m all good with my water,” Buhara said. He beamed at Kurapika and Leorio. “Thanks, though. Again, thank you so much for picking us. We were getting really overwhelmed with juggling the wedding planning and work.”

“I can only imagine,” Kurapika said. He fiddled his pen between his fingers, thinking - should he ask about their wedding plans now? Or should he get to know them better? They had plenty of time to get things started, although the prospective wedding date Menchi and Buhara had given them was barely more than two weeks away.

While Kurapika was struggling with trying to re-learn how to conduct small talk, it seemed, Leorio picked up the lead in the conversation. “I’ve got to ask,” he started.

“Because I admit, I’ve watched your shows forever - how were you able to keep things under wraps for so long?”

Kurapika briefly considered slapping his palm to his forehead, but Menchi only laughed. “We keep getting asked that! It’s funny, really.” She ran her thumb over the broad back of Buhara’s palm. “Everyone knew that we were best friends. And dating, being engaged, that hasn’t changed the fact that Buhara is still my favorite person in the whole world. All that’s changed, really, is the ring on my finger.”

“Are you flirting with me?” Buhara asked, brown eyes wide. “In front of these nice people?”

Menchi smirked up at her partner. “And if I am?”

“You’re just coming on pretty strong,” Buhara shrugged, and Menchi laughed aloud. Leorio snickered into his hand, and Kurapika bit his lip to keep his smile at bay.

“If I may,” he asked, “How did you two meet?”

Menchi beamed, digging into her bag and pulling out a thick binder. “So, it’s kind of a long story.” She peeked up at Buhara. “You mind if I go first?”

“No, it’s all you,” Buhara said, waving a hand and encouraging her to continue. “You tell the story better, anyway, I think.”

Menchi smiled and turned her attention back to the scrapbook. “So, I had a pretty unusual childhood. My dad was a trapeze artist in a traveling circus, so I was raised in that carnival-slash-fair scene.” She opened the scrapbook and flipped it around to show Kurapika and Leorio the pages. They featured carefully tended but age-faded newspaper clippings, photographs, ticket stubs, bits of ribbon and stickers. Menchi ran her fingers over one photo of herself as a child, probably between the ages of seven and nine, hefted onto the shoulder of a man who shared her teal hair and round green eyes. “He called me his starflower. He taught me to tumble, balance, juggle knives. We traveled all over, and one day Buhara joined the circus, too. I think I was… fourteen? And Buhara was sixteen or seventeen.”

“Strong man,” Buhara added there. The gentle giant curled one large hand into a meaty fist and hefted it above his head. “And fire-eater. I got out of that scene a while ago, though, after I hurt my back.”

Menchi nodded. “Buhara hurt his back, and around then was when my father got sick. We were all in and out of the hospital a lot around then, so we got to know each other that way.” Menchi swallowed thickly. “It was really hard, that year. Hara and I got really close.” She leaned her slim form against Buhara’s bulk. “I’m not sure how I would have gotten through that year without him.”

Buhara wrapped an arm around Menchi’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “You’re a tough cookie, love. You’d have been just fine. I’m the one who would have been lost without you.”

Gon and Leorio made identical aww-ing sounds. Kurapika smiled and nodded along as well, to show he was actively listening, even if all of the heart-on-their-sleeves display left him feeling distinctly flat-footed. Menchi wiped dampness from her eyes with her blunt nails and added, “After my father passed, I just didn’t want to perform anymore. I wanted to get in my car and go. Buhara had some savings, and he wasn’t performing anymore, so we started traveling. To make ends meet we picked up a camera and a cheap laptop and made our own travel journal. Patreons became ads, ads became sponsorships, and eventually the Food Network decided to take a chance on us. The rest is history.” Menchi beamed up at Buhara. “And the future.”

Too many emotions. Kurapika reached for the scrapbook. “May I?”

“Please!” Menchi said, and she gently pushed the book toward him. Leorio sent Kurapika a knowing smirk, there and gone again in just a moment. Then he asked another question, keeping the conversation going and handling the gooey emotional aspect of this while Kurapika stuck his head in the proverbial sand.

The scrapbook was well-tended, with entries going back nearly twenty years. Menchi added new entries every few months or so, it seemed. The pages featured pressed flowers, pictures of food and tourist sites all over the world, clippings from menus, maps, and publications featuring their reviews. A great deal of the photos were of the three-by-three inch dimensions popular with Polaroid cameras: selfies of her and Buhara at carnivals, street fairs, and amusement parks. The most recent one was a selfie of the couple on a ferris wheel, her left hand raised to flaunt her engagement ring. The ferris wheel and carnival lights created a lens flare that almost rendered the rest of the photo imperceptible.

“You attend a lot of carnivals and circuses together,” Kurapika observed.

“We do!” Menchi affirmed. “We love the sights, the noise, the people, the _food._ It’s a giant party. We want our reception to have a sort of carnival or fair-feel.”

“When you say, ‘fair-feel,’” Leorio started, already grinning. “Do you mean clowns? Do I get to build you a ferris wheel?”

_Please do not,_ Kurapika almost said, but Menchi and Buhara both laughed.

“I think we just mean the feel,” Buhara said. “The lights, the colors, the food.”

Kurapika’s half-formed nightmares of a wedding featuring clowns and jugglers dissipated into smoke, and he managed to suppress his sigh of relief. He nodded, jotting down the ideas. Already he could picture ideas for the reception.

They talked together for a few more hours about ideas, agreeing to meet up tomorrow at nine a.m. to start discussing outfits. One o’clock would be a first meeting and consultation with the Zoldycks to do a cake tasting and brainstorm meals. That night, Kurapika went back to his apartment and dreamed of funnel cakes and starflowers.

The next morning dawned bright and early. Kurapika was up with the sun, a heady mix of nerves and anticipation that led to him doing yoga in his living room like that was going to help. It did, a little bit, at least until Kurapika stepped out of the shower and checked his phone to see that Leorio had texted him.

_morning_ 🌞, he texted. _i’m getting coffee on the way over. do u want that sugar coffee thing u like?_

Kurapika did _not_ squeak, thank you very much. He typed, _It is called a caramel cloud macchiato, and yes, please. Thank you._

He sent that first message, his fingers typing out another text. His thumb hovered over the send button for a few more moments before finally tapping it.

🌞?

Leorio replied a few minutes later, probably one-handed as he balanced the cardboard drink carrier. _i like emojis._

“Clearly,” Kurapika muttered. He wrote back, _So I can see. You use it for me as a… nickname?_

Kurapika made himself get properly dressed before he checked his phone again. Leorio had replied, _lmao u typed out ‘...?’ and yeah._ 🌞 _for sunshine. bc, you know. blond._

Kurapika read the text perhaps a dozen times over. He wondered who was the bigger idiot: Leorio for calling him _sunshine_ because he was _blond,_ or himself for thinking Leorio could have meant anything else by it.

_Remember: this is your job,_ he told himself again as the door buzzer went off. He took a deep breath, pressing his index finger to the buzzer to let the others in. _You are working. Professional. Be professional._

A minute or so later, there was a knock on the door. Kurapika forced a smile onto his face as he swung the door open. Standing there was Leorio, bedecked in jeans and a button-up flannel with an open collar and the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He grinned down at Kurapika.

“One caramel cloud macchiato.”

Something in Kurapika’s chest lurched. It wasn’t in a bad way - it was like his lungs were too full of air, or like white static was filling up his ribcage. In time, he thought he might even trust it. He could even grow to like it.

But for now, Kurapika accepted the take-out mug and took a sip. He swallowed cold, sweet coffee and prayed it was enough to douse these embers in his chest.

Kurapika stepped aside and held the door open wider. “Good morning, everyone. Please, come in.”

~

The next week passed by in a movie montage of preparations. Kurapika spent his days with the couple, Leorio, Gon, and the Zoldycks, assisting with the decision-making process and just generally completing the _planning_ portion of his job description. His time was wrapped up in calls, designing, and fittings.

“Tell me what you’re picturing for your wedding day outfit,” Kurapika asked Menchi at the end of that first week. It was oddly easy to fall back into his comfort zone of the professional designer, even if he was designing wedding clothes now and had Gon pointing a camera in his face.

_“Ugh,”_ Menchi said, “Can I just say, I love that you call it a ‘wedding day outfit?’ And how you _don't_ assume I'll wear a dress?”

“I try to keep an open mind,” Kurapika replied. He smiled faintly. “Am I to take it you do _not_ want a dress?”

“No, I want a dress,” Menchi corrected him. “An untraditional one, to be sure, but a dress nevertheless. I just appreciate the thoughtfulness.”

“Oh?” Kurapika asked. He reached for a sketchbook-sketchbook, not one of the sketchbook-turned-planners he had laying around. Opening it to a clean page, he carried on, “Is there anything that you want, or anything you dislike? Anything you want to flaunt?”

“These legs, for one,” Menchi said, kicking up one of her legs. In her shorts and heels, she got to show off miles of skin and slender legs. If Kurapika were a leg man or at all interested in women, he would have definitely seen the appeal. To be fair, he _did_ see the appeal, if only in an aesthetic sort of way. “So I want a short dress. Something I can dance in. Not, you know, lingerie short or anything. But something I don’t have to worry about getting dirty by running around, or folks stepping on. Mostly I’m worried I’ll trip.”

Kurapika chuckled. “That makes perfect sense. So I’ll shoot for knee-length or calf-length. Fitted? Flowing?”

“I’m thinking fitted up here,” Menchi said, hands tracing over her collarbones and ample cleavage, “And loose around here and down.” Her hands followed her curves to her waist and followed the flair of her hips.

“Any materials?” Kurapika asked. “Anything that you like or dislike?”

“I _hate_ taffeta,” Menchi declared. “And because of the summer heat and how I’ll be running around all day with guests and friends, I’d prefer something lighter. And in just a single layer.”

“Noted,” Kurapika said. He jotted down a few ideas. “What about a slip?”

“I’d _rather_ not, but if there’s no other way.” Menchi shrugged. “I could handle it.”

“This is your dream wedding,” Kurapika assured her with a small smile. “There is always another way.”

Menchi laughed. “In that case, that’s it for now! I’m really not that picky and I’m super easy to please, so anything you make will be great.”

“I appreciate that,” Kurapika said. “I will be spending the next few days designing. I will show you my initial sketches, but in the meantime you are welcome to email me any images of wedding dresses that you like to give me a better idea of what you would like.”

“Or an email captioned ‘do not do this?’” Menchi asked. Kurapika, surprised, tossed back his head to laugh aloud.

“Go ahead. Any information is good information.” Kurapika rose to his feet. “May I take your measurements?”

“Sure thing!” Menchi said, hopping to her feet. “Do you need me to get undressed?”

“That will not be necessary,” Kurapika assured her. Gon’s eyes were wide behind his camera, his lips mouthing, _what?_ at him.

“Sorry, I know that sounds a bit odd,” Menchi said as she stepped onto the pedestal in front of Kurapika’s mirrors. “In the traveling circus and carnivals, we didn’t have a ton of space, so we all shared the same changing rooms. There wasn’t a ton of nudity, I mean! I just…”

“Menchi,” Kurapika interrupted gently. He smiled up at her. “You’re talking to a professional designer. This is par for the course, the changing in front of others, the casual comfort with bared skin. Also, I was a theater kid, so…”

“No _way,”_ Menchi laughed. “Tell me _everything._ Plays or musicals?”

“Neither,” Kurapika said. “I had unbearable stage fright and I cannot sing. My brother was the gifted thespian in the family. I was a costume designer, actually. Only, on top of the clothes I had to buy, there were a great deal that I made on my own.”

Menchi whistled. “Impressive.”

“In its own way,” Kurapika agreed. “Not, I think, as impressive as balancing on a tightrope juggling knives.”

“Charmer,” Menchi said, laughing aloud. Kurapika gestured for her to step down as he finished the last of his measurements. “That was fast.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” Kurapika smiled. He glanced at his clock. “I believe you, Buhara, and Leorio are off to scout for venues now. I will speak to you in a few days?”

“You will!” Menchi leaned in and gave Kurapika a quick hug. Kurapika froze briefly from the unexpected contact, his hands briefly going to her hips. Just as quickly she pulled away, waving at him as she and Gon went to the door. Kurapika locked the door behind them before he turned around to take in his apartment. Sunshine streamed in through the windows, blue skies and strips of white clouds promising a beautiful rest of the day.

With a sigh, Kurapika stepped over to open the windows. He was high enough in his loft that the air was free of the scents of food and car exhaust that permeated the city streets below; up here, there were only fresh breezes that smelled like nothing but summer and, occasionally, saltwater.

Kurapika settled himself into his little window nook, his back pressed against the wall and his side pressed to the window, and he tucked his sketchbook onto his knees to draw.

~

“This.”

Menchi stood with her hands on her hips, nodding to herself as she surveyed the open courtyard behind _Something for Everything._ Kurapika had not seen this section of the barn when they first came by, but the back patio was a large square of sun-warmed stones and flower planters. Beyond the patio, the afternoon sun shone on the rolling hills and the fruit trees, creating a brilliant oil painting in shades of green and gold. Menchi beamed up at Buhara, who put an arm around her waist.

“You sure?” He asked.

“Positive.” Menchi nodded. “This is the venue.”

Kurapika glanced around. Kalluto smiled at the couple. “That’s wonderful. We would love to host your wedding.”

Behind their back, they sent their siblings a subtle thumbs up. Alluka and Nanika’s smiles stretched so wide their cheeks couldn’t contain them, their mouths opening to celebrate. Killua quickly clasped his hands over each of their mouths, though his cheshire grin showed that he was equally as delighted as his sisters. The two young women flapped their arms around, smacking each other and Killua. Kurapika sent them a _look,_ and they finally calmed down enough that they could be filmed on camera.

_“THAT SOUNDS GREAT!”_ Alluka called from the doorway. Her voice was high and squeaky from pure starstruck awe.

Menchi whirled back around with a laugh. “I’m glad! It’ll also probably make things a lot easier for you when it comes to catering.”

“Dinner is ready, too!” Nanika announced. “We have the final samples of the wedding food set up for you all to try.”

“Great!” Buhara cried. “I’m starving.”

Kalluto led the others inside, Gon trailing after them with his camera on his broad shoulders. Kurapika had stopped bothering trying to tease or count the number of times he had watched Killua’s blue eyes trailing over Gon’s muscular form. Shaking his head fondly, Kurapika drew out a pocketbook to start designing. Now that Menchi and Buhara wanted to have their ceremony and reception at the Barn, it was time for him to start planning.

There were lots of pros and cons to this arrangement. The positives were that, as Menchi said, they would save a lot of time and effort on catering with both events happening at the restaurant. The setting also already had a lot of space and natural beauty, which meant that they did not need to add much. The downside was that with the remote location of the restaurant, they would need to create a space for guests to relax and mingle between the ceremony and reception. The restaurant proper would likely work for that, Kurapika supposed, but he would need to discuss that option further with the Zoldycks. For now, Kurapika started to design a layout for the reception, imagining where they would place the food stands, carnival games, benches and tables. But still they needed a dance floor for the DJ. Would that even work out here? Or should they keep inside?

“Kurapika?”

Kurapika looked up from his sketchbook. Leorio was standing beside him, holding a plate of food in one hand and a glass of water in another. The afternoon sun glowed on his skin, in his hair.

Leorio sat beside Kurapika. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes,” Kurapika replied without thinking. However, his stomach grumbled when he smelled fried food and spiced meats. When had he eaten last? He’d definitely eaten breakfast. Was that really the last he’d eaten? He glanced at his watch. It was past six o’clock now. “I’ll eat when I finish this.”

“You should eat _now,”_ Leorio told him. Kurapika glimpsed him resting his chin on his hand, eyeing Kurapika warily. “I know that if I tried to take your sketchbook from you, you’d beat me to death with it -”

“I would not. I might consider it, however.”

“ - but I’m thinking about it. But you’ve been working and running around all day.”

“As have you.” Kurapika tapped his pencil over the page, wondering at the reception layout as one would with a thousand-piece puzzle.

“That’s true,” Leorio said agreeably. “But I at least ate lunch.”

“Good for you.”

Leorio did not rise to the bait; instead he simply slid the plate closer to Kurapika’s hip. “You get hangry.”

_That_ made Kurapika’s head jerk up sharply. His mouth worked for a few moments, affronted. “I do _not.”_

“You do,” Leorio said. “And you’re getting there again. ‘Sides. You should give the wedding food a try, you know? Give it your wedding planner seal of approval.”

Kurapika felt his lips twitching. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“I know you know,” Leorio said. “Try this with me. Seriously, the soft pretzels are amazing. Though the mustard is a bit odd.”

He was _so_ baiting Kurapika, but the rumbling of his stomach wouldn’t let him rest. With a heavy sigh, he shut his sketchbook and placed it aside. He turned his attention to the plate. He was met with an array of fair foods: fried pickles, pigs in a blanket, BBQ rib tips with three sauce options, loaded tater tots. Nothing even remotely healthy, but Menchi and Buhara wanted a party, and no one went to a carnival for the nutritional fare. Alluka and Nanika assured Kurapika and the couple that they could make all of their offerings healthier or make something different altogether once they received the finalized guest list and their food restrictions. Kurapika trusted them all in any case, and more importantly, _Menchi and Buhara_ trusted the Zoldycks, so he was going to leave the food minutiae to the experts.

He took a bite of the soft pretzel. It was dense, and he dipped the pretzel into the sauce. He lifted an eyebrow. “This is a spicy sriracha mustard. Is that what’s weird to you?”

“It’s not weird because it’s spicy,” Leorio argued. “It’s weird because it’s. You know. Wrong. Pretzels are supposed to be served with yellow mustard. You know. Tangy, not spicy.”

Kurapika gaped, affronted. “Have you no palette?”

“Of course I do!” Leorio said. “All you can taste with the sriracha-mustard is the _sriracha._ It’s just spice that overpowers everything else! At least with the plain yellow mustard you get the salt from the pretzel and the tang from the mustard.”

Kurapika thought about that for a few moments. At last he said, “That makes perfect sense, actually. I concede.” He sent Leorio a small smile. “I’m sorry I said you have no palette.”

“Huh?” Leorio’s eyes went wider from surprise, a flush creeping up his neck. He ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, I _don’t._ I’m not all fancy like you and the others. But I at least want to be mocked for something that’s _silly.”_

“Is arguing about which mustard to use with a soft pretzel _not_ silly?” Kurapika asked. Leorio laughed again.

“Point taken.” He wiped pretzel salt off his fingers and reached for the rib tips.

Dinner passed in a cheerful affair. They debated the merits of each sauce pairing - regular sweet and smoky, spicy teriyaki, and aged bourbon and smoked cherrywood - for at least ten minutes. They agreed that the pigs in a blanket, while excellent, were _incredibly_ overrated, and the fried pickles were decent and even better when dipped in the spicy, tangy aioli. They almost started a sword fight with their forks over the tater tots, that mess of homemade cheese sauce and applewood-smoked bacon and chives.

It was fun. It was so, incredibly, ridiculously _easy,_ sitting there and eating and laughing with Leorio. It was the first time his shoulders had loosened up in days, the first time he felt like he wasn’t utterly in over his head. It was the first time Kurapika realized that Leorio was his friend, and not only his colleague or show partner.

It was the first time in a month Kurapika forgot to keep his eye on the camera.

~

“Is this a final fitting?” Menchi asked as Kurapika handed her the dress.

“Not yet,” Kurapika replied. “This is still just a mock-up, making sure I have the fit and the shape right before I make the final version. Here.”

He showed Menchi to the closet he had long since repurposed as a changing room. She sent him a happy smile as she flounced in to try it on, and a few moments later she stepped out again.

“Kurapika, I _already love it,”_ she squealed. She did a twirl on her way over to the pedestal in front of Kurapika’s mirrors. Because Buhara wasn’t allowed to see the dress until she was walking down the aisle, Leorio and Gon made the required _ooh’s_ and _wow’s_ at the sight of her. Menchi smiled at them gratefully, running her fingers over the dress’s silhouette.

True to her request, Kurapika had kept the fabric fitted on top and flowing from the waist down. Capped sleeves slipped into a sweetheart neckline. The skirt fell to her knees and it flared out like a bell when Menchi gave it another twirl.

“How does it feel?” Kurapika asked, studying the way the dress fell on her clinically. There was some odd bunching just under her ribcage. “I’m going to make some adjustments. Is it alright if I touch you?”

“Go ahead, I trust you,” Menchi replied. “Do you need me to do anything? T-pose?”

She stuck her arms out at her sides, hands parallel with the floor. Gon and Leorio snorted out laughs. Kurapika chuckled, shaking his head. “No, that is quite alright.”

Menchi chattered happily with Leorio as Kurapika completed his adjustments. This dress was actually very simple, which Kurapika was very grateful for in a first wedding design. The purpose of wedding dresses was so different from what he was used to: more than simply demanding he be seen, these dresses needed to be sentimental and comfortable and easy to move and dance in. With this classic design, Menchi could dance and leap and run all over the Barn and fields if she wanted. She could also wear it again, if she wanted, to Food Network events or fancy restaurants. Kurapika had a feeling that was something Menchi would have valued.

“And…” Kurapika pulled a safety pin out from between his lips and pinned a last odd bit of fabric in place. “That’s it. You can go ahead and change back into your other clothes, just take care not to jostle the pin.”

“Sure thing,” Menchi replied. She went off to change and came back out a few moments later, the dress mock-up carefully hung on its hanger. Kurapika accepted the dress as there was a buzzing at the door as Buhara asked to be let in.

“Leorio, let him in, please?” Kurapika asked. “I need to hide this.”

“The mock-up?” Leorio said, a gentle tease. “Don’t tell me you’re superstitious, Kurapika.”

“I am _traditional,”_ Kurapika replied with a dignified sniff. “And I believe couples should not see each others’ wedding outfits before the wedding day.”

Leorio chortled wordlessly as he went to let Buhara in. Kurapika managed to tuck the dress mock-up behind the mirror as the door swung open. Menchi beamed as Buhara came in, leaning down to press a kiss to his partner’s mouth.

“Is that what you’re wearing to the wedding?” He asked teasingly.

“What’s wrong with it?” Menchi demanded in faux-irritation, putting one hand on her cocked hip. She indicated her short skirt and floral-print crop top.

Buhara took her free hand and kissed her knuckles. “Nothing at all. I’d marry you in a burlap sack.”

“That _would_ save me some time,” Kurapika shared. Menchi grinned at him.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.” She stood on her toes to peck Buhara on the cheek. “Seriously, Kurapika, thank you. I can’t wait to see the final version. I’ll leave you gentlemen to it. I’ll be at the hotel, babe.”

She waved over her shoulder as she strutted out the door. Kurapika looked up at Buhara. “Hotel?”

Buhara nodded. “We travel so often, we don’t really have a place we call home. We book a nice suite in an extended stay hotel whenever we stop somewhere longer than a week.” He clapped his hands together, rubbing his palms eagerly. “So! My turn to get measured?”

“It is,” Kurapika agreed. Buhara accepted a cup of tea, which Leorio prepped as Kurapika started to do Buhara’s measurements. He had insisted he was happy with a traditional outfit, nice slacks and a button-up and a vest. It was too warm to make a jacket to go with it, and Buhara did not want one anyway. In all, this wedding was one of the easiest design projects he had ever been asked to do.

Which was probably for the best, considering what an enterprise the reception was going to be.

Buhara’s measurements didn’t take long at all to get, though the discussion of colors and materials took a while.

“There’s so many colors,” Buhara said. He frowned down at the fabric swatches Kurapika had put together for him. “Well, I know it’s only five. But this is still just a lot. I want to look nice for Menchi.” He fingered the swatches a few times. “Actually, I wanted to talk about her while we have some time alone.”

Judging by the context, Buhara _probably_ wasn’t getting cold feet and calling the whole thing off, Kurapika figured. He also thought it said a lot more about _his_ mental and emotional attitude toward weddings than Buhara’s if _that’s_ where his mind immediately jumped. Rather than ask his client if he wanted to cancel the wedding, Leorio stepped in. “What’s up, Buhara?”

“I wanted to do something special for her,” Buhara said. “Her father died a long time ago, so she hasn’t got anyone to walk her down the aisle. I wanted to know if you could help me find someone.”

“Someone to walk her?” Kurapika asked.

Buhara nodded. “He’s the old carnival leader, Satotz. We fell out of touch after he retired, and I haven’t been able to get in contact with him. I think it would mean a lot to Menchi to have him there. I’ve been able to get in touch with some of the others in that old crowd, but he’s the one I’ve had trouble with.”

“Of course,” Kurapika agreed immediately, noting the name. “We will do our best.”

Buhara’s shoulders relaxed immediately. “Thanks so much,” he said. “Really. She has so many keepsakes of her father, you know? But nothing she can really keep on her during the wedding.”

“What about her mother?” Leorio asked. Buhara shook his head.

“Never in the picture,” he said simply.

Gon smiled and piped up from behind his camera. “I get it. That just makes the people who stuck around all the more important.”

Kurapika and Leorio met each other’s gaze. Buhara sent them all a wobbly smile. “You guys are the best. Thank you for this.” He looked at the fabric swatch again, finding a periwinkle shade. “I think I’d like this.”

Kurapika looked between Buhara, the violet-blue pastel swatch, and the dress mock-up hidden behind the mirror. He sent Buhara a smile. “I can make that work.”

~

Kurapika absolutely _could not_ make this work.

It was T-minus 5 days to the wedding. He was up at all hours making sure everything was ready to go - the flowers, the catering, the veil, the special side-project, the sewing projects, the set-up for the ceremony and reception. He was stressed and short and tired and when he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of ripped hemlines, shattered rings, collapsing canopies, and kitchen fires. He did not feel rested at all when he woke up each morning to do it again.

So tonight, instead of worrying, Kurapika downed an energy drink and leaned over his sewing machine and finished the chiffon wedding dress. It was a work of art, if he said so himself: soft white fabric, clinging to the chest and then flowing. Sheer, filmy gossamer layers floated over top of the bodice. Now, Kurapika was at his workstation, weaving a veil. His computer sat open beside him, giving him the design pattern he needed, and soft classical music played through his speakers.

He did not stop or look up for hours. The sun went down, the shadows growing longer and longer across the living room until it turned purple in the twilight. When it grew too dark to see, he irritably flicked on a table light and kept going.

He did not move until there was a buzz from his door. He jumped, pulling at the thread until it almost bunched and snapped. He frowned, checking his phone for any missed calls or texts. There was nothing, but it also wouldn’t be the first time Pairo or Altair had stopped by unannounced. Nevertheless, he stomped over to the door. His eyes burned in weariness as he lay his thumb against the intercom.

“Pairo, unless you’re bringing me my weight in egg rolls and prosecco, go away.”

_“It’s actually Zaban and a craft four-pack, if that’s okay.”_

Kurapika was immensely grateful that the intercom was only one-way, which meant that Leorio couldn’t hear his small yelp of surprise at hearing his voice. Which was _completely_ embarrassing, and a sound he had _never_ made before, but then again, he had never felt like he had stuck his finger in a light socket from hearing another man’s voice. His breaths felt uneven and jerky, his fingers tingly - what was _wrong_ with him? He checked his phone. It was past eight o’clock. When had he last eaten? This had to be low blood sugar, right?

Heart in his throat, Kurapika buzzed Leorio in without a word. He made himself take a series of deep breaths to calm himself. _What_ was his problem? Leorio was his coworker, perhaps finally his friend. Friends hung out and ate dinner together all the time. He was the one making a mountain out of a molehill, acting like the dramatic prick he knew he was.

There was a knock on his door. Kurapika flung it open. Standing in his doorway was Leorio. He was dressed in faded, frayed jeans and a white shirt with a v-neck. He smelled like sunscreen and sweat and paint and, indeed, there were faded, dried paint streaks over his clothes, arms, and face.

“What are you doing here?” Kurapika demanded. Which was _not_ what he wanted to say. He wanted to say something like, _this is a surprise,_ or, _holy hell how are you this fucking hot,_ or maybe even, _did you really remember my Zaban order?_

But no. He was an idiot. So he only knew how to say idiotic things.

Leorio grinned and held up the bag. “I’ve just finished putting the first layer of paint on the stands and realized I hadn’t eaten. Knowing you, I figured you hadn’t, either. I was in the area.”

Kurapika swallowed as inconspicuously as he could. He wasn’t sure if he was very successful with that, though, because his mouth felt very dry. “Is that paint dry?”

“Scout’s honor,” Leorio said, holding up his right hand. Kurapika bit back a smile and stepped aside to let Leorio in.

This was the first time they had ever been alone together, Kurapika realized as he watched Leorio walk into his kitchen like he owned the place. No clients, no restaurant patrons, no camera-wielding Gon, no bickering Zoldycks. Just him and Leorio, who had a streak of emerald green paint over his cheekbone. Kurapika wanted to reach over and wipe the smear away with his fingers.

Instead, he said, “No, please, make yourself at home.”

Leorio sent him a smirk, sliding a take-out container toward Kurapika’s usual seat. He hopped into his chair and accepted the bowl of chicken vindaloo. “Samosas?”

“I ate them on the way here,” Leorio told him, sitting in the chair opposite Kurapika. He threw down his fork.

“Get out of my studio.”

Leorio laughed. Kurapika didn’t. Leorio’s grin faded. “Wait. Are you actually mad? You know I didn’t, right?”

Kurapika broke at that, because Leorio looked _so worried_ that he had inadvertently offended him that he couldn’t keep teasing him. “I know. It’s fine.” He reached for one of the craft beers and pulled it from the cardboard carrier. He felt himself smiling much more openly than he did in public. “Thank you, Leorio.”

Leorio blinked. For a moment he looked as dazed as if he had stared straight into the sun. Then he looked down into his biryani. “No problem.”

They ate their dinner in companionable silence for a few minutes. It was uncanny, how easy it was to be with him. Kurapika had to force himself not to think of any advice that Pairo may have given him. He wondered how it was possible to be simultaneously so anxious and relaxed around him.

“What’re you working on?” Leorio asked. He used his fork to point into the shadowy corner where Kurapika had been lace-weaving like a gay, trans Cinderella.

“It’s a surprise for the bride.” Kurapika explained his idea, and Leorio beamed at him, impressed. He swirled his spoon through his bowl. “It’s a new pattern, so I’m a little anxious. I wish I’d thought of it before now, but as it is, I only have enough time to make one go of it. So it has to be perfect.”

“I’m sure it will be,” Leorio said. Kurapika met his gaze across the table.

“You sound confident,” he stated. Leorio only grinned at him.

“I am,” he said simply. “I’m confident in our skills. Individually, we do excellent work. Together, I think we can do some really great things.” He picked at the label of his beer. “Which means, you know, you can lean on me a bit more.”

He met Kurapika’s gaze. He looked down, feeling his cheeks heat. “I apologize. It’s not that I don't trust you. I just…”

“Handle it better when everything is laid out in front of you,” Leorio finished for him. Kurapika stared at him, amazed.

“You remembered I said that?”

“It wasn’t all that long ago,” Leorio laughed, shrugging off Kurapika’s surprise with casual ease.

Kurapika glanced back over his shoulder to study his lace project thus far. Turning his attention back to his meal, he said, “I know it sounds silly. I just… it just needs to be _perfect._ And I fear it won’t be.”

“They’ll love it,” Leorio said with such assurance Kurapika stared.

“How do you know?” He asked. “What if they hate it?”

Leorio shrugged again. “Then they’ll say so. And then you’ll make something better together.” He met Kurapika’s gaze. “You can lean on us more. We’re a team, remember.”

Something in Kurapika’s chest quivered, like his very heartstrings were being played like a violin. He felt a smile growing on his face, crawling and settling into place like ivy.

“Thank you, Leorio,” he said softly. “I’ll… consider that.”

~

The back patio of _Something for Everyone_ looked like a dream.

String lights in every color looped around the stair bannisters and over the ceiling and the patio. Little balloon clusters sat on each bench and table. The wedding canopy featured a vintage, old-carnival style sign painted in bright purple with neon lights blown into a cursive _Just Married!_ Bulb lights illuminated the backdrop of each food stand, their wares detailed in colorful chalk (and allergens carefully noted at the bottom of each), and the game booths. Kurapika marched around, already dressed for the wedding, checking off last-minute to-dos as they were completed.

He approached Leorio as he put the finishing touches on the ring toss. Festive toys hung from the display, little teddy bears and stuffed ducks and inflatable hammers. He kept his gaze focused on the display rather than the muscles in Leorio’s back as he said, “You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Damn right I have,” Leorio agreed happily. He stood upright and used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “I’m gonna put this on the _Doing It_ instagram after the wedding is over.” He turned to look at Kurapika, his eyes skimming over his form. He was definitely only admiring Kurapika’s outfit, but his stomach did not seem to get the memo, judging by the way it flipped. Leorio grinned at him. “Oh my _god,_ that _bowtie.”_

Kurapika looked down at himself, self-conscious. He wore black slacks, pressed neatly, and a baby-blue button-up under a lilac vest. He tweaked the matching bowtie. “Is it too much?”

“It’s great,” Leorio said with a grin. He wiped his face again. “Now, I am going to run off and take a shower and get ready for the ceremony. We’re down to the wire now, right?”

“Three hours,” Kurapika reminded him. He had certainly been announcing the hour-by-hour countdowns, not to mention the Zoldycks had been up since dawn cooking and baking. The entire area smelled like the state fairs of coming-of-age movies, all hot summer air and sweet fried dough. He checked his watch on his inner left wrist. “I’m waiting for Palm and a few other things, and then we can get things underway.”

“Sound less excited, yeah?” Leorio teased. He fell into step beside Kurapika as they went back into the Barn. “In any case, I’m off. By the way, do you know what exactly the dress code ‘formal fun’ means?”

Kurapika sighed explosively. “It means the photos are going to be very, very interesting.”

Leorio snickered; Kurapika felt his phone buzzing in a text, and he removed it to read Kalluto’s message. _The makeup team is here._

Kurapika sighed. “Please excuse me.”

Leorio sent him a final wave before he half-jogged over to the Zoldycks’ house. The siblings were kind enough to allow Leorio to get cleaned up there, considering there wasn’t enough time between finishing set-up, driving back into the city, getting ready, and then driving back in. Not to mention Leorio didn’t have his license.

Kalluto nodded to Kurapika as he entered the barn. A trio of three women stood behind him: A tall, curvaceous woman with brown skin, lustrous black hair, and round green eyes; a petite woman with a red chin-length bob, bright pink eyes, and a pale pink dress; and a third tall woman, her figure athletic, wearing a blue pantsuit and her navy hair tied back into a ribbon.

“Good afternoon,” Kurapika greeted the trio after sending Kalluto a quick nod. The business manager returned the gesture and swept off to check on their siblings. God, Kurapika loved that kid. He returned his attention to the trio. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“It’s nice to meet in person,” the tallest woman replied, her voice a low alto. “I am Gel, and these are my partners, Pyon and Cluck. Which you know, of course.”

“I do,” Kurapika said with a perfunctory smile. “Please, come with me.”

“These decorations are amazing!” The redhead, Pyon, cried. Her eyes took in Leorio’s handiwork with obvious admiration. “Who did this?”

“My colleague and show partner, Leorio,” Kurapika explained. He fought to suppress the fondness that threatened to creep into his voice and smile. “He is indeed talented.”

The other three nodded in agreement, following Kurapika as he went down a side hallway. The refinished barn had a few side rooms that had once been used for storage, though once the Zoldycks realized people were genuinely interested in using their restaurant as a wedding venue, they refurbished some of those rooms into dressing areas for each person’s wedding party. Already he could hear loud laughter coming from Menchi’s changing room.

Kurapika knocked on the door. A few moments later, Menchi called out, “Come in!”

He opened the door. Inside, Menchi was in her robe, sipping a wine spritzer and giggling with some old friends from the carnival and the Food Network. She waved at Kurapika. “Hello! The venue is _stunning._ I can’t wait to see everything else! And, hello!”

The woman with blue hair smiled. “Good afternoon, Miss Menchi,” she greeted. “My name is Cluck, and I’ll be doing your hair for the wedding. This is my partner, Gel, and she will be doing your nails, and my other partner, Pyon, who will be completing your makeup.”

Cluck and Gel entered the room, somehow immediately meshing with Menchi and her fellow bridesmaids. Pyon made to follow, but Kurapika stayed her movement by gently tapping her on the upper arm.

“Miss Pyon?” He asked. “May I have a moment?”

“Alright,” Pyon said. She allowed Kurapika to escort her outside of the room and a little further down the hallway.

“Between you and me,” Kurapika started. “Would you mind holding off on completing her makeup for a little bit? Our team has put together a few surprises that might make Miss Menchi a bit emotional, and I do not want to upset your hard work.”

“Sure thing!” Pyon beamed up at Kurapika; she was _really_ petite. He wasn’t used to people looking up at him, save Melody and Altair. “What’s the surprise?”

Kurapika shared with her, and Pyon actually _squealed_ in happiness. “That’s _amazing!_ You seem so sweet.” He held out a gloved hand. “I know you’ve been in contact with Gel, mostly, seeing that she handles the business side of things. But it’s so very nice to meet you, and I look forward to working together.”

Kurapika glanced between Pyon’s hand and her smiling face. He smiled back, accepting her hand and shaking it.

“And I, you, Miss Pyon,” he said. “Thank you. Please, if you need anything at all, do not hesitate to ask for me, Leorio, or Kalluto.”

He stepped back into the restaurant proper, pulling up a seat at the bar and sighing heavily. Kalluto sent him a smirk.

“Having fun?” They asked.

“Yes,” Kurapika replied immediately. It was odd: he was exhausted and stressed, but he was having _fun._ He _liked_ this, the rush of planning and preparations, the sense of accomplishment and wonder as everything came together. He liked seeing the joy and anticipation on his clients’ faces, hearing the endless bantering and bickering of the Zoldycks, watching Leorio bring their ideas from the page to life.

Kalluto grinned, flaunting sharp white teeth. “Me, too.” They ducked under the bar for a glass. “Drink?”

“Just water, thanks,” Kurapika said. Kalluto laughed.

“Kurapika, you think I could condone drinking on the job?” they asked sarcastically. A few moments later they passed Kurapika a glass with ice water and lemon.

“I’ve _watched_ you drink on the job,” Kurapika chortled. He managed to take a sip of water before his phone went off again. He sighed, sliding the water back to Kalluto. The youngest Zoldyck sibling sent him a commiserating smile.

“Back into the fray?”

“You know it,” Kurapika replied. He got back on his feet. “The florist has arrived. I will see you soon, Kalluto. Send your siblings in the kitchen my regards.”

“Will do,” Kalluto said with a straight face. They pushed open the swinging doors into the kitchen, announcing, “Kurapika said you’re all assholes and I’m his favorite. How are we on those rib tips?”

“Eat my ass, Kalluto,” Killua said, and the doors swung shut. Shaking his head, Kurapika went to the front to meet Palm and her van.

Palm Siberia was just jumping out of her van as Kurapika approached. She was dressed for work in a pair of close-fitting jeans and a purple t-shirt that bore her shop’s brand on the back. Despite her profession as a florist, Palm’s skin was so pale she looked nearly gray, with large, purple eyes and long curly hair she wore tied back into a ponytail.

“Kurapika,” she greeted with a smile. “It’s so very nice to see you. I’m sorry for the delay.”

“All is forgiven, because you are here now before the guests,” Kurapika replied with a tight-lipped smile. He poked his head into the back of her van, his irritation dissipating as he took in the bunches of flowers, all in shades of blue, purple, and white. "Do you have the circlet?”

Palm sent him a mischievous smile. “I knew I was forgetting something.” Kurapika blanched, and she giggled. “My apologies. I have it right here.”

Ignoring the look Kurapika sent her, Palm reached for a box carefully sequestered to the side. She gently pressed it into his hands. “For as much as you present as cold and aloof, you strike me as someone with a soft heart.” She winked. “This was a wonderful project. I hope to complete more such works of art in the future.”

She leapt into the van and started to unload her flowers. “I’ll get started on these. Go ahead and drop that off for the bride.”

Kurapika sighed, shaking his head. “Thank you, Miss Siberia. Will you be staying for the ceremony?”

“I think I’m a touch underdressed,” Palm laughed, indicating her dirt-stained jeans. “And in any case, I have a previous engagement for tonight. I wish you all the best of luck. Excuse me.”

Kurapika stepped aside, holding the door open for Palm as she started to unload the van. He sat at an empty table, carefully weighing the box in his hands. He gently opened the lid, taking in Palm’s work. His eyes went wide, studying the circlet. Small blue and white flowers, interspersed with glittering wire with faux-pearls attached. The circlet was delicate and lovely.

“Starflowers,” said a male voice over Kurapika’s shoulder. He looked up, taking in the stranger before him. The man was tall, wearing a velvet purple suit that he _must_ have been too warm in, except there wasn’t a drop of sweat on him. His hair and glorious mustache were light pink. His white-gray eyes were studying the circlet in Kurapika’s hands. “Menchi’s father always called her his starflower. They were her mother’s favorites, you see.” The man met Kurapika’s gaze and smiled. “Mr. Kurapika, I presume?”

“Just Kurapika, please,” he said, rising to his feet to shake the man’s hand. “Mr. Satotz?”

“Just Satotz,” the man echoed with a chortle. “I must say, Kurapika, I am deeply impressed that you found me. Menchi and I lost touch years ago. I feared I would never hear from her again.”

Kurapika abruptly became aware of Gon’s presence off to the side, camera on his shoulder. He caught his eye and sent him a wide grin and a thumb’s up. Smiling slightly, Kurapika said, “I cannot take credit, I fear. One of our partners for this project, Nanika, appears to have some supernatural skills with computers. Thank you for coming, and on such short notice.”

“Not at all,” Satotz said. He shook his head. “I would have dropped anything to come here in time. It’s what her father would have wanted. I think it will make Menchi very happy to have that piece of her father with her today.” He nodded at the circlet. “I have been out of her life for far too long. Part of me fears she may resent me for it.”

“She will be very happy to see you, I think,” Kurapika replied, thinking of Buhara’s words in his studio. He offered Satotz the box. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Satotz’s smile softened. He accepted the box, cradling it like it held something precious. Indeed, in this older man’s eyes, this circlet represented a lost member of his family, returned at last. “I would love to. Please, take me to her.”

Kurapika nodded. “Come with me.”

He led Satotz down the hallway to the bridal suite. Already he could hear pounding music and echoes of women’s laughter. Over it all was Menchi, giddy and eager for her big day to start.

Kurapika knocked on the door. “Miss Menchi? I have one last thing for you.”

“Oh, _another?”_ Menchi said from the inside. “Seriously, Kurapika, this is too much! You’re being far too generous with me -”

The door opened. Menchi stood there in her robe, her hair tucked up into a low, coiffed bun. The rest of her sentence was downed out in a shriek, and she leapt into Satotz’s arms.

With a small, satisfied smile, Kurapika left the family to its reunion.

~

The patio was awash with noise and color, with laughter and light. In the middle of it all was the happy couple, already well on their way to wedded bliss as they whirled around on the dance floor, laughing at a joke only they seemed to know and smiling at one another like they were the only thing they could see. Buhara, handsome in his vest and tie, twirled Menchi around on the dance floor. She was resplendent in white and lilac and periwinkle, the upper layer of her dress glowing in the light and her veil fluttering softly behind her with every step. Satotz watched the children he had helped raise dance their wedding night away, a fond, faraway smile on his face.

The rest of the partygoers were no less delighted by the reception. Nanika and Alluka could barely keep up with the demand for their stellar cooking, and Killua had looked on with smug delight as people tore into the gourmet apple cider donuts, fried oreos, and candied apples he had prepared for the dessert portion of the evening. It was by no means _traditional,_ but neither Menchi nor Buhara seemed to care when they each bit into a shared donut, spurting caramel sauce over their faces and almost giving Kurapika a heart attack when it came _thisclose_ to staining Menchi’s dress.

Now, the Zoldycks were taking their breaks and indulging in some of the festivities as well. Alluka and Nanika were losing horribly at the ring toss, Kalluto watching on until they took their turn and won the inflatable hammer both women had been gunning for. Meanwhile, Killua and Gon were locked in an increasingly intense competition to see who could do the best tricks at the balloon dart station. The poor co-ed they had hired to work the stand was at their wits’ end, trying to keep the balloons inflated fast enough for the two. Gon won a stuffed frog, much to Killua’s mock-consternation; even from here, Kurapika could see the soft smile on the younger man’s mouth as he studied the cameraman clutching the soft green toy to his chest. When Gon held out the frog to Killua, motioning to him, _take it,_ Killua blushed bright enough that Kurapika could see it from his position on the second-story balcony overlooking the party.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Kurapika looked back over his shoulder, unsurprised to see Leorio walking towards him. He looked as adorable in his suspenders and tie as he seemed to have found Kurapika in his bowtie. Leorio held out one of the cocktails Kalluto had prepared special for the occasion.

Kurapika shook his head. “I’m simply taking a break from the festivities. Taking everything in, thinking about what could have gone better.”

He accepted the drink Leorio offered him. Leorio shook his head, leaning against the railing beside him, his bared forearms leaning on the sun-warmed wood. “Can’t you just sit back and celebrate? Look at all of this. You did something incredible, Kurapika. This was all you.”

_“I_ did not build the food or game booths,” Kurapika replied haughtily, tossing his hair out of his face. “Nor did I paint them. I did not set up the lights, or the tables, or make the wedding canopy. I didn't even know you _could_ shape glass for the neon lights.”

“I get it, I get it!” Leorio laughed. Red, either in a blush or in a sunburn, was crawling up his neck. He sipped his drink, gently knocking his shoulder against Kurapika’s. “You know, I think we’ve got a good thing starting.”

Kurapika looked up at him. The multicolored lights caught on his white button-cup, casting him in a kaleidoscope of pink, blue, red, green, purple. The setting sun shone on his skin. Something warm was growing in Kurapika’s chest that had nothing to do with the hot afternoon or the alcohol in the drink.

“I agree, Leorio,” he said, and he nudged Leorio back. Their arms remained inches apart as they looked over the wedding party. Down on the dance floor, Menchi pulled her husband down into a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! a few quick notes:  
> \- i wasn't planning on delving into all of those couples, but if there is anyone in particular you want me to cover or depict, let me know!!  
> \- i headcanon altair is a short king.  
> \- yes, gel/pyon/cluck are in a polycule, which i have decreed is now canon despite having absolutely no canon support for that.


	4. i wanna be good (but it’s gonna take time)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kurapika and leorio get ready to tackle their second wedding for their show. their couple is madly in love, but soon the showrunners learn there is a whole other madhouse just under the surface to contend with.  
> (or, the morena x theta wedding, part i.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaaaa hello!!! i know i said last chapter that each wedding would be 1 chapter each. but then i was writing this, and it was already at 10k words, and i decided to share when it was at a decent stopping point. so i decided to share!!!!
> 
> chapter title is taken from [all dressed in white](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H5Jic-UCrn4) by king princess.
> 
> please enjoy!!!

A summer evening rain was pattering against Kurapika’s windows. The mug of tea sat warm and heavy in his hands, the handmade throw blanket soft against his bare toes. His sketchbook sat at his side, long-abandoned as he watched the submission video for the show’s next couple. His loft was quiet and peaceful, something Kurapika had the sneaking suspicion was not going to happen much for the next three weeks.

The video on his television was almost as different from Menchi and Buhara’s as it was possible to be. Unlike the homey, lovingly cluttered atmosphere of the inside of the former couple’s RV, this video was recorded with a high-quality camera in the well-lit living room of what looked like a Yorknew penthouse (a _real_ penthouse, not Kurapika’s loft). Instead of the obvious, effusive affection between Menchi and Buhara, this couple was much more reserved, sitting closely together with their hands interlocked.

No, Morena Heil and Theta Ly struck a much more reserved tone. At first this put Kurapika off, the hypocrite that he was, as if he had any legs to stand on when it came to measuring the level of love in a relationship by the affection they performed.

_“Good morning - well, it’s morning where we are,”_ Morena amended, a small smile on her face as she looked at the camera. _“My name is Morena Heil, and this is my partner -”_

_“Fiancé,”_ the woman holding her hand gently corrected, arching a brow up at her partner. She brushed a strand of shoulder-length red hair behind her ear.

Morena glanced down at her partner. _“Yes, dear. Fiancé.”_ She returned her attention back to the camera. _“This is my fiancé, Theta. I work as the head of the legal department for a multinational tech conglomerate.”_

_“And I am the assistant director of finance in the same company,”_ Theta added. _“We met… three years ago, now?”_

_“Three years, four months,”_ Morena stated with the confidence of a woman who had checked on her calendar that very morning. _“And we have been engaged for over a year. It has been a long time coming, something Theta has been endlessly patient with… but now, our wedding is set for the middle of July. And we would be deeply appreciative if you, Kurapika and Leorio, would help us build this amazing day together.”_

Theta peered up at her partner, a smirk on her lips. _“You’re speaking like you’re making an argument in court. Just stating the facts.”_

_“Those are the facts,”_ Morena replied archly, turning away from the camera to peer at Theta. _“What more would you like me to add, my dear?”_

_“They’ll know the gory details,”_ Theta said gently. Her thumb ran in soothing circles over the back of Morena’s palm. _“So let’s tell them everything good about us.”_

And this was the moment Kurapika realized he was going to give this couple a wedding beyond their _wildest_ dreams: Morena looked into her partner’s eyes, the careful mask of distance she wore for the camera dropped, and the smile that graced her lips and the way her eyes softened betrayed ice-melting affection and warmth.

_They’ll know the gory details,_ Morena had said. And so Kurapika pulled up his laptop to look up whatever it was Morena Heil had been positive they would already know.

His search came back with thousands of hits right away. Articles from tabloids to magazines to primetime news coverage dominated the screen. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Kurapika clicked on a link from one of the more reputable news sites and read.

_**Scandal from on High: How the World’s Most Powerful Family Fell from Grace,**_ the title read. The article detailed a scandal of global proportions: the trade and finance conglomerate, the Kakin Corporation, was once a leader in global commerce and economics. Six years ago, its CEO, Nasubi Hui Guo Rou, announced his retirement and instituted essentially a free-for-all competition among his subordinates (who, incidentally, we mostly his children) for who would take over his position. As if this white-collar _Lord of the Flies_ remake wasn’t dramatic enough, Ruo’s nine eldest children who worked in various positions in the company turned over enough stones to realize that they were not the only children Ruo hired to run his businesses. No, the scandal spread much further as various other executives in the company learned that they were the illegitimate children of the CEO - many of whom, like Morena, finding the truth of their parentage in the tabloids at the same time everyone else did.

Morena Heil was, at the time, the head of the legal department for the Kakin Company. From there, a record that was murky at best was presented to the court of public opinion, every underhanded but technically-legal deal and contract she had overseen thrust into the unforgiving spotlight. Morena Heil nearly lost everything: her license, her job, her freedom when she was briefly arrested pending investigation into some of Ruo’s more illicit practices. Morena proved her innocence - or, more accurately, she demonstrated she was not guilty of the various charges leveled against her - but the damage was done. With her reputation in tatters and her career virtually ruined, she vanished from public view and cut all ties to her “family.”

Kurapika had not thought of this scandal in years, not until he saw an older, wiser Morena Heil on his television screen. She had taken up the position as head of legal at one of the Kakin Corporation’s business rivals, a second scandal in the making if the company hadn’t been good enough not to publicize its hiring choice. She worked diligently and kept her head down. From there, it seemed, she met Theta Ly, a brilliant, mousy mathematician who was one of the corporation’s assistant chief advisers of finance.

It was a long-winded way of saying that Morena Heil had gone through _hell_ these past few years, only to come out singing, happy, and engaged, and she wanted Kurapika to give her partner the wedding of her dreams. He could deliver on that.

Kurapika sipped his tea, relishing the peace of his apartment. He had a feeling he would not have another moment like this for the next several weeks.

~

Kurapika frowned into his sketchbook, chin resting on one hand and pen tapping against the desk in another.

“What’s up, sunshine?”

Kurapika’s pen clattered to the desk. He gaped at Leorio, who was sitting across from him with a coffee in his hand. “I beg your pardon?”

“You seem thoughtful, is all,” Leorio mused. He sipped his coffee. “You’ve been quiet for a bit while we wait for the pair to arrive. I just wanted to check in -”

“Not _that,”_ Kurapika interrupted, spluttering over his words, “I mean - _sunshine?”_

“Oh, yeah, that,” Leorio said, looking a bit nonplussed. He sounded totally casual as he added, “I have you saved under the nickname in my phone, I guess I didn’t think it’d carry over to real-life. Is that okay?”

“I - yes,” Kurapika said, very much to his own surprise. “I don’t mind. I was just… surprised.”

He wasn’t sure how to explain that he’d never been given a nickname like that. Indeed, aside from Pairo and Altair calling him _Pika_ and his birth parents calling him _firefly_ when he was very young, he’d never had a nickname. When previous lovers or almost-boyfriends had tried that with him, it had only left him feeling belittled and smothered. They tried to call him _baby_ or _sweetheart_ or, on one memorable occasion, _daddy,_ and those had left Kurapika curling his lip and wanting to start swinging. When Leorio tested those very same waters, Kurapika only felt… warm. Cared for. Like Leorio looked at him and saw _sunshine,_ someone who brightened his day simply via his proximity. He’d actually put thought into what he should call Kurapika.

Kurapika broke their eye contact, sipping his own coffee. He could not start being a sentimental fool over these kinds of things. Because while he felt all sorts of soft, stupid, gooey things over Leorio calling him _sunshine,_ he had to remind himself that the term only existed because he was, as Leorio so astutely observed, _blond._

This job was turning him into an absolute fool.

Leorio grinned. “That’s good.”

“Just don’t use it in front of clients,” Kurapika warned.

Leorio beamed. “A contraction _and_ a nickname out of the deal? I’ll take it.”

Kurapika was saved from banging his forehead into the table by the phone in the corner ringing, and Kurapika almost jumped out of his skin. He swore softly, reaching for a tissue to mop up the mess he’d made of his coffee. Gon sent him a knowing sort of smile as Leorio turned to pick it up.

“Morning, Miss Cocco!” Leorio greeted cheerfully. “Is the couple here?” There was some quiet murmuring on the other end. “Excellent! I’ll go out and get them. Be right there.” He hung up, whirling around on the others. “Misses Morena and Theta have arrived. I’ll go get them, give you a moment to…”

He indicated a hand at the mess of coffee Kurapika was mopping up. Kurapika wrinkled his nose at Leorio, and the man grinned at him as he left the room.

Kurapika stood up to move to his standard armchair in front of the couch. As he moved, he noticed Gon still had that knowing little smile on his lips.

“Something on your mind?” Kurapika asked.

Gon’s grin widened. “You’re really bad at feelings, aren’t you, Kurapika?”

Kurapika was glad he had already finished his coffee, between chugging it like the world was ending and spilling it all over the table. He felt his cheeks flushing as he turned away from Gon. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, Gon.”

_“Ooh,_ two contractions in a sentence,” Gon observed gleefully. “You _do_ like me!”

“Of course I do,” Kurapika said. “Did you think I didn’t?”

“No, I knew you did,” Gon said. He reached for his camera and hefted it onto his shoulder. “But you’re pretty reserved, I’ve noticed. You come across as serious and all, but I think you’re just really shy.” He smiled at a memory Kurapika was not privy to. “You and Killua are alike in that, I think. He’s shy, too.”

Kurapika settled into his chair. “Gon,” he started. “You really like Killua, don’t you?”

“Of course I do!” Gon insisted. “I haven’t been subtle about it. Well, I’ve been subtle for me. Normally I’m a lot more blunt. Not in a pressuring sort of way!” He amended quickly. “I’m just normally more up-front about my interest. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I’ve been taking things pretty slow with Killua.”

“I see,” Kurapika said. He rolled his pen between his fingers thoughtfully. “If you’re alright with me asking, why is that? Why take things slow with Killua if that’s not your usual approach?”

“Hm,” Gon mused. “I think… I think it’s because I can already tell that Killua is different. My usual approach to relationships will only put him off, and… and it’s really, really important to me that I don’t screw this up.”

“Screw what up?” Kurapika asked.

Gon smiled brightly. “I’ve no idea. I just know that I care about him and I want him in my life. What form that takes is up to him and to time. With this job and his contract, it’s not like we’re going anywhere.”

“How can you do that?” Kurapika asked. “Live life with such comfort and that assurance? How can you not feel lost in a world that affords so little control? How does that not drive you up the wall?”

“Some days it does,” Gon said, shrugging his free shoulder. “Like I said, if we were moving at my pace, I’d already have taken him out. But what happens in life isn’t something I can control, you know? I can only control how I feel and my actions.” He beamed. “So I choose to be happy and cheerful and trust that good things will come. You can stand to open yourself up a bit, yourself, Kurapika. I think good things will happen if you do.”

There were footsteps coming down the hallway, accompanied by Leorio’s voice. Either Morena or Theta replied, and Leorio laughed. The sound was no less enthralling to Kurapika after two months of working together than it was on the first day.

Kurapika met Gon’s gaze. The younger man was looking at him with nothing but good-natured understanding and a touch of mischief.

“I will keep that in mind, Gon, thank you,” Kurapika said, and he stood up to greet the happy couple as Leorio escorted them into their office. He put a smile on his face.

“Miss Heil, Miss Ly,” he greeted, holding out a hand to greet the couple. “Thank you for joining us. It’s very nice to meet you in person.”

“You as well, Mr. Kurapika,” Morena said. She was a tall, slim woman, dressed to the nines in business professional clothes Kurapika might have designed. She wore her long blonde hair tied elegantly up into a knot at the top of her head. Her makeup was minimal but flawless, doing little to cover the scar that ran from her hairline to the edge of the left side of her jaw. She shook his hand, the grip tight and firm. Kurapika immediately knew that this was a woman who had made boardrooms bow to her with nothing more than this handshake and a single glance from her dark brown eyes.

“Miss Ly,” Kurapika greeted as well, shaking the other woman’s hand.

“Please, just Theta,” the woman greeted. She was a head shorter than Morena, her figure more flat and athletic when compared to Morena’s model-esque proportions. She had red, shoulder-length hair, the bangs pinned back to reveal the expanse of her forehead. She had a freckly face and bright green eyes. She grinned at Kurapika, a dimple on her left cheek but not her right. “We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other over the next few weeks. Might as well get past the formalities.”

Kurapika smiled. “That makes perfect sense.” He indicated the couch for the pair to sit. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

The couple took up their positions on the couch. Like in the video, they were much less effusive in their affections compared to other couples who submitted videos. They also definitely weren’t as openly affectionate as Menchi and Buhara were. But something about the quiet grace and tenderness between the two women was just as obvious as Buhara’s hand cradled in Menchi’s smaller ones, or the loud, smacking sound of Buhara pecking his fiancé - now wife - on the cheek.

“To get started,” Kurapika began, “Please, tell us more about yourselves. How did you meet?”

“Oh, that’s a terrible story,” Theta said cheerfully. Morena gasped daintily, one perfectly-manicured hand going to her mouth.

“No, darling, please don’t,” she said, though her eyes were sparkling with mirth. “I look _terrible_ in this story, I was _awful_ to you.”

“You were not,” Theta argued, shaking her head. “Well, you _were,_ just a little. But that was four years ago! You’ve made such incredible progress, and we’re so different now than we were back then. I won’t tell if you don’t want me to.”

“No, go ahead,” Morena said. She flickered her gaze over Leorio and Kurapika.

Theta smiled up at Morena. “You act like you were horrible to me. You made a small faux pas.” She glanced at Kurapika and Leorio, smiling at them as she invited them into the private joke. “It had to be her second week with the company. She was still making the rounds, meeting people, attending dozens of different department presentations to catch her up to speed, et cetera. Understandably, she was feeling tired and a touch cranky for our seven o’clock meeting -”

“Seven in the _morning?”_ Leorio interrupted, aghast. _“Really?”_

“Exactly!” Morena cried in agreement.

“Some people can wake up before noon, Leorio,” Kurapika murmured.

“ - I agree, although I was not yet in a position to change the meeting times,” Theta said. “In any case, I was running all over the room, setting things up, when Morena -” here Morena groaned, putting her face in her hands in embarrassment. “- caught my arm, and she demanded with the imperiousness of a queen -”

“The entitlement of a frigid bitch,” Morena muttered.

“ - Hush, darling, I’m telling the story,” Theta said. “Anyway, she catches my arm and _insists_ that I tell her where she could ‘find a halfway decent cup of coffee, lest I throw myself from the window before attending this accursed meeting,’ adding a few choice remarks about the timeliness and preparedness of the presenter. To which I replied, ‘oh, most definitely, Miss Heil, I’ve heard the presenter can barely keep a crowd invested.’ And I told her where to get her coffee.” She sat back in her seat, smiling with a touch of smugness. “I waited for her to come back, of course, a few minutes late. And I said, ‘welcome, Miss Heil, shall we get started?’ And I started my presentation on our third-quarter projections.”

Leorio laughed aloud. Kurapika lifted his brows and bit back a smirk. His first few interactions with Leorio were downright affectionate by comparison. He stated, “This seems an… inauspicious start to a relationship.”

“Oh, I hated her,” Theta stated.

“And I was enchanted,” Morena added, much to Kurapika’s surprise. She looked at Theta with a warm intensity in her gaze. “I realized that day, I had never met someone who so openly and blatantly challenged me. And challenged me for _me,_ not my power or position or knowledge or gender. Theta would not cow to me simply because I came from wealth and power - and I _did,_ even if my adoptive parents were not as powerful or connected as…” She trailed off, her expression going distant. She peered back at Leorio and Kurapika. “Theta challenges me everyday. She has taught me not to take myself so seriously, that love and happiness can be found if one opens up to it.”

“Morena taught me not to mix red and pink in my outfits,” Theta deadpanned, and the group laughed again. The sound was interrupted by Morena’s phone buzzing. She reached into her purse to check the caller ID. Whoever or whatever she saw made her laugh die in her chest.

Theta looked at her sharply, her brows raising. They had an entire conversation in the space of a few moments, just in their prolonged eye contact.

“Excuse me,” Kurapika asked. “Is everything alright? Feel free to get that if you need to. We know work does not always wait.”

“Oh,” Morena said, putting a bright smile on her face. “No, this is not work related. It’s nothing.”

She lied as smoothly as she smiled, and she muted her ringer as she slipped her cell phone back into her purse. “My apologies. Where were we?”

~

“These damn rich people,” Leorio muttered. He frowned down at whatever he was designing on the sheet of computer paper he’d pulled out of the printer. He flipped it upside down, in case that made the design look however it was he’d intended. Clearly he did not see what he wanted to, so he crumpled it up and tossed it into the recycling bin.

They had finished their initial meeting with Morena and Theta just a few hours ago. After a break for lunch, they were back in the office to get started on planning how to give the Heil-Lys the perfect wedding day.

“C’mon, Leorio!” Gon wheedled. “Wouldn’t you have your wedding on a yacht if you could? Just imagine! The breeze, the ocean, the sunset, the rocking of the waves -”

_“Please_ do not talk to me about rocking in the waves,” Leorio groaned. He ran his pencil over the paper alongside his ruler. Frowned at it. Crumpled it up and tossed that aside, too. Kurapika smirked at him.

“Do you get seasick?”

“I don’t, actually,” Leorio stated, sticking his tongue out at Kurapika. “I’ve been on boats before. I just think having a big, huge wedding on your four-hundred foot personal yacht is… kind of gaudy, I dunno.” He shrugged. “Ignore me. I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, I think.”

“I can understand that, I think,” Kurapika replied quietly. It was his way of gently telling Leorio that he had no interest in ignoring him whatsoever. “I sometimes saw that in the fashion world. People with more money than sense throwing their credit cards at whatever they wanted. Which was their prerogative, I supposed. But as someone who wasn’t born into it, at times it did… grate.”

“Plus, the pollution of shallow waters, and the trash and waste,” Gon added. “With that said, the lighting will be _amazing_ for the pictures and the footage.”

“Of course,” Kurapika agreed. “Regardless of our reservations, we will give them the best wedding we can.”

Gon nodded cheerfully before he put his headphones back on to keep going over the footage for the Menchi-Buhara wedding, finding what pieces were good and usable from their two and a half weeks together and splicing it into a fifty-minute television episode. Kurapika had learned already that while Gon was cheerful and could at times be easily distracted, once he settled his full mind and attention on something, he was impossible to pull from his task.

“Obviously,” Leorio scoffed without ire. He flicked his pencil between his fingers, twirling it one-handed. Kurapika tried not to watch with too much interest. He helped Kurapika from going too far down that train of thought by asking, “Did you see Morena’s face when she got that phone call earlier today?”

“Of course,” Kurapika said. He pictured Morena’s expression: her shadowed eyes, the droop of her lips, the curl of her shoulders. Whoever had called had the ability to take Morena from cheerfully bantering with her partner to withdrawing almost completely. Kurapika wanted to give the couple their privacy, but already he could not shake the feeling that whatever _this_ was, it was going to gum up his planning.

Leorio sighed. “I’ve got a bad feeling about it. D’you feel the same way?”

Kurapika met his gaze. Leorio’s were wide and thoughtful, the overhead office lights catching on the flecks of green in his eyes.

“I think so,” Kurapika replied. “I suppose we can only wait and see.”

Leorio nodded distantly, agreeing, “Yeah, I guess so.”

There was a frown on his face that Kurapika suspected was about more than just the mess they both anticipated bounding towards them. It was much akin to how he imagined he might feel if he were tied to railroad tracks, feeling the metal starting to vibrate under him with the approach of the speeding train. But he was not going to get anything done by stressing about it yet; he would save that for when he had more moving variables to panic about.

So instead, Kurapika placed his sketchbook to the side and scooted his chair closer to Leorio’s. “What are you designing?”

Leorio sighed. “Morena and Theta were talking about how they wanted things ‘artistic’ and ‘elegant.’ Two things that I’m, you know. Not good at.”

“Hmm,” Kurapika replied thoughtfully. “No, I do not know that, actually.”

“Kurapika,” Leorio deadpanned. “Be serious.”

“When _ever_ am I not?” Kurapika asked. He glanced at Leorio’s design. It appeared to be a large ball of… something. “This is interesting.”

Leorio snorted. “It looks like shit.”

“I don’t know what it is,” Kurapika pointed out. He ran a fingertip over the paper. “So tell me.”

Leorio sighed. “I know they wanted this theme of renewal. Since both Morena and Theta have been through so much shit in their lives. And I wanted to do something for that, some kind of glass work. Except when I try to design it, it looks like…” He waved a hand at the page. “A tumbleweed of barbed wire.”

“Artistic.”

_“Awful.”_

Kurapika smirked. He reached for his sketchbook. “Tell me what you’re thinking, and I’ll try to replicate it.”

Leorio looked up from his paper with wide-eyed horror. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean - you don’t need to do that. I know you’re already busy enough, with designing the dresses and getting the flowers ready and -”

“All things that can wait,” Kurapika interrupted gently. “The bouquet can be designed in the final week or so, when Miss Siberia can best guarantee what flowers she will have on hand. I can design the dresses when I get home.”

Leorio shot him a look. “You have no sense of work-life balance, do you?”

“This isn’t about me.” 

Leorio snickered. Sighing, he conceded, “Fine, fine. I’ll tell you what I’m thinking.”

Kurapika pulled his sketchbook in front of him, sitting cross-legged in his chair. For the next hour or so, Leorio described what he was picturing. He wanted to make a big hanging display for the reception, something that would catch on the light and refract it over the party guests. He described it as “a disco ball, but less campy,” making Kurapika snort out a soft laugh. At the end of the day, Kurapika had a few designs to get started with.

“How do you know all this about plant symbolism?” Leorio asked as they stepped into the elevator at the end of the day. They had lost track of time in their planning and sketching; the clock above Cocco’s desk showed it was just past six-thirty as the doors slid shut.

“I’m gay,” Kurapika said like that explained everything.

Leorio laughed aloud. “So am I.”

“I’m trans.”

“That must be it,” Leorio agreed, nodding sagely.

Kurapika smiled, shaking his head. “In truth, I took a class on it for an elective in college. I admit, I thought it was… romantic.”

“Romantic, hm?” Leorio asked, raising an eyebrow. There was something in his smile that made Kurapika’s face heat up. The elevator doors opened, and he rushed out first. He sensed Leorio following him.

“Sunshine, wait,” Leorio laughed. “I’m sorry, really, I didn’t mean to tease -”

“Do you want to get dinner?” Kurapika suddenly interrupted, loudly. He whirled around on his heel to look up at Leorio. They were standing in the middle of the sidewalk, business workers grumbling irritably as they had to wind around the two. Leorio blinked down at him, looking a little bit like he’d accidentally stared into the sun when he wasn’t expecting it. “Since it’s late,” he added. “And I haven’t eaten since lunch. And because that means you, also, haven’t eaten since lunch, unless I missed that somehow -”

“Yeah,” Leorio cut off Kurapika’s anxious babbling. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Oh,” Kurapika said lamely. “Cool.” He rocked onto his heels. “Zaban?”

Leorio nodded again. “That sounds great.”

“Yeah,” Kurapika echoed, nodding and hoping he didn’t sound like a breathless idiot for no reason related to the way the sun caught on Leorio’s hair. “Great.”

~

“You have a lovely home,” Morena told Kurapika a few days later. She peered around, taking in his abode with sharp eyes.

“Thank you,” Kurapika replied. He showed her and Theta into the studio section to take a seat. Leorio jumped up as well and greeted both women cheerfully. Gon waved from behind his camera, and Kurapika sat in his chair.

“I was looking forward to this,” Morena said, smiling eagerly as she sat on the couch. Her gaze floated over the dress Kurapika had worked on weeks ago. Kurapika had decided to add crystal beads sporadically over the skirt, creating an effect where the skirt sparkled every time the skirt fluttered in the airflow from the AC vent. “Oh, Kurapika, that’s _lovely.”_

“Thank you,” Kurapika said. He settled into his preferred seat, tucking one leg up under him. “As you know, today we’re going over the initial designs for your preferred outfits, and I’ll take your measurements. What sort of dress code were you anticipating for the wedding?”

“Oh, definitely formal,” Morena said, which was exactly what Kurapika had been afraid of. She laughed, a touch self-conscious. “I don’t mean to be a bridezilla, I just… I always dreamed of that big, fancy, fairy-tale wedding. Is it silly not to want to let that go?”

Theta took Morena’s hand. “Not at all. If you’re only getting married once - which, God willing, you _are_ \- then you deserve to have everything that you want.”

Kurapika nodded. “I agree completely.” He grinned, feeling it going wide and eager. “I confess, I am looking forward to the challenge. It has been some time since I have had the opportunity to create such a piece.”

“Excellent!” Morena cheered. She turned to Theta. “Are you sure you’re alright with this? I know every time we talk this plan gets bigger and bigger.”

_“Yes,”_ Theta said. “You want glamor, and I just want a big party. We’re both getting married only once, so we should both get what we want out of it.” She tapped Morena’s hand. “You go first.”

Morena nodded, looking adorably eager. It was amazing how much she clearly lit up when she was with Theta. “Excellent! I was thinking -”

Her words were cut off by her phone ringing. She rolled her eyes, holding up a finger as if to say, _one minute._ She pulled out her phone to look at the caller ID, and Kurapika _felt_ the way her mood deflated.

“I have to take this,” Morena said, standing. “Can I -” she pointed to the hallway. Kurapika nodded even as Morena swept out into the hall to take the call. He turned his attention back to Theta, who was watching her fiancé walk away with clear pain on her face.

Kurapika and Leorio exchanged looks. Leorio, forever the one better equipped to handle _emotions,_ asked, “Theta? Is everything alright?”

She shook her head, looking irritable. “It’s - _ugh._ I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bring down the mood.”

“You’re not,” Leorio assured her. At Theta’s questioning glare, he said, “Really. Things happen. Rough patches are natural. Couples fight -”

“Oh, it’s nothing with Morena,” Theta said quickly. “We’re great. It’s just…” She sighed irritably. “Somehow, word got to Morena’s family that she’s on this show, and those _vultures_ are circling her again. Five years without a peep from them, and now they’re so _happy_ for her and so _sad_ they lost touch and so _hurt_ they weren’t invited to the wedding. They seem to think that any bit of happiness Morena’s carved out for herself is their own personal victory, and they act like they’re _entitled_ to be there.” She scowled at her clenched fists. “They start with saying how they’ve missed her, how nice it would be to get everyone together again, listing all the family members they think she won’t refuse outright and then adding one more person at a time. It’s just…” she sighed, her lip curling in a snarl. “I _hate_ the way they treat her.”

“Of course you do,” Leorio said gently. “That’s how anyone would feel, seeing the person they loved mistreated by their family.” His eyes went wide, and he slapped his hand onto his knee. Gleefully, he announced, “Oho, I just had the _best_ idea.”

Theta lifted a brow. “Oh?”

“Care to share?” Kurapika asked, sending Leorio a look from under his lashes.

Leorio beamed at them both. “I’ll hold off on it until Morena comes back. For now, Kurapika, you go ahead and do your thing.”

Kurapika sighed, affecting an expression of long-suffering weariness as he turned his attention to Theta. She sent him a small smile. Kurapika asked, “What were you envisioning for your wedding day outfit?”

“A suit,” Theta replied immediately. “Something sleek and classic. And sexy! I wanna look sexy.”

“I can very easily make that happen,” Kurapika grinned. “Define ‘sexy’ for me.”

“I’ve always felt a bit, well, plain,” Theta confessed. “So, something that makes people give me a second-glance.” She smirked, just a bit wicked. “You won’t tell Morena this, will you?”

“Not if you ask,” Kurapika said. “Would you like to surprise her?”

“Absolutely,” Theta laughed. She looked to the door, checking to make sure Morena wasn’t about to come through the door. “I want something high-waisted, something that shows a bit of cleavage. Maybe I’ll cave to Morena’s wishes and ask for a _little_ bit of glam.”

Kurapika jotted down these notes, smirking to himself. “These are all _very_ doable. Important question: shirt under the suit jacket, or no?”

Theta threw back her head and _cackled._ “I like the way you think!”

“Are you trying to kill the poor woman?” Leorio demanded. “With Miss Theta’s beauty and your exemplary skills?”

“I am trying to give the best wedding I can,” Kurapika sniffed.

Theta calmed down enough to finally answer. “You two are hilarious. I’m going to say yes to the undershirt, because with a high summer wedding I’m going to want to take off the suit jacket when things get hot. Temperature-wise.” She snickered at some private joke she was thinking up. “Something light.”

“Done,” Kurapika said. He flipped his sketchbook to a clean page, hiding his notes from any prying eyes. “Excellent. Anything else?”

“Nope, that’s it for now,” Theta said. “Measurement time?”

“Measurement time,” Kurapika confirmed, nodding. He looked to the door. “Would you like to check on Morena?”

“Yeah,” Theta said, casting her gaze wistfully to the door. “But I want to give her some time and space. She tells me there are still some battles she has to fight on her own. And while I may not agree, I respect her independence. She’ll ask me for help if she needs it. She always has.”

“Sounds like she’s really lucky to have you,” Leorio said kindly.

“She is,” Theta agreed, standing and moving to the podium. She kept her sight locked on the door through the mirror. “But I’m lucky to have her, too.”

Kurapika did not reply. He focused on his measurements, murmuring quiet instructions to ask Theta to stand or position herself differently. He allowed Theta to lapse into contemplative thought, which lasted all through his time taking measurements. His door finally opened again as he finished taking his final measurement, Theta slipping in quietly with a sheepish smile on her face. The expression was oddly brittle.

“Sorry about that,” Morena said, addressing all of them but her focus mostly on Theta. She approached her fiancé, looping their hands together and raising Theta’s left hand to her lips. “I didn’t mean to abandon you.”

“You hardly abandoned me,” Theta chided gently. She nodded to the phone in Theta’s hand. “What happened?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Morena promised. She turned to Kurapika and Leorio. “Again, gentlemen, my sincere apologies.”

“Things come up,” Leorio assured her. “It’s completely fine.”

“Of course,” Kurapika added. “Would you like to take a break, or finish this some other time?”

The offer was difficult to make, because they _did_ only have just under three weeks to pull the wedding together, but he was not going to force Morena to stay and be measured and perform for the camera if that’s not what she could handle right now.

To his immense relief (which he did his utmost not to allow to show on his face), Morena shook her head. “No, that’s alright. We’re here; I’d like something nice to happen today.” She settled into her spot with Theta again. After a moments’ hesitation, Kurapika sat as well, and he repeated the same process with Morena that he just had with Theta.

Their process took another thirty minutes or so. Gon volunteered to escort the couple out, so after the door closed behind the couple, Kurapika allowed himself to sigh into the silence. Belatedly, he realized Leorio had never shared his idea, but it was too late to do anything about it now. He threw himself onto his couch with all of the weary drama of an Austenian heroine, his hair flaring around him to catch on the couch’s accent pillows.

“Me, too,” Leorio admitted, scrubbing the heels of his palms over his eyes. “Do you still have those lemon seltzers?”

“Of course,” Kurapika replied. “Get one for me as well? And use a coaster this time.”

“You’re worse than my _mother,”_ Leorio whined, mostly sarcastic. Kurapika tossed his forearm over his eyes, blocking the rays of afternoon sun from shining into his eyes as he allowed himself to melt into his couch. He _never_ would have done this two months ago, relax into his couch like he hadn’t a care in the world in front of his colleagues. But he had also never worked from home like this before, and he had never allowed a work colleague into his life to this extent. He’d never had the stress of his job strike so close to home before, nor so literally.

“You just gonna take up the whole couch?” Leorio asked. Kurapika smirked tiredly from under his forearm.

“Yes. It’s my couch, after all.”

Leorio hummed thoughtfully. Then, Kurapika made an ungainly squawking sound when Leorio grabbed him by the ankles, lifting them and then settling them into his lap. Warm skin and hard muscle under Leorio’s jeans scalded the tender skin around his ankles.

_“Excuse_ you,” Kurapika cried, making no motion to move.

“I’m good,” Leorio replied, a little-shit smirk on his lips. He cracked his can and sipped his water, cool as a cucumber and acting like he hadn’t just blown past about nine different walls Kurapika put up between “himself” and anything resembling “affection.” Like he hadn’t inadvertently started this game of gay friend chicken on Kurapika’s couch.

No, Leorio simply pulled out his phone to scroll through his newsfeed, apparently deciding for them both that they were taking a break now. He by sitting back and sinking into Kurapika’s couch like he did this every day; Kurapika by knowing he would get nothing done with Leorio touching him so casually. He was hyper-aware of the steely strength in the muscles under his heels, of the slow rise and fall of Leorio’s abdomen as he breathed. Kurapika was not used to this level of contact; he wouldn’t classify himself as touch-starved (a detail he may need to revisit, if his current reaction is any indication), but he had never been a particularly effusive or touchy-feely person. Indeed, he’d had friends and almost-boyfriends with whom he had never reached this level of casual comfort or intimacy.

Fortunately, at that moment, Gon stepped back into the apartment. Reflexively, Kurapika yanked his feet back to tuck under himself. Leorio only smiled slightly into his screen before he locked it and settled it aside. If Gon noticed Kurapika’s rapid movement or the red flush creeping up his neck - two things Kurapika was positive he _did_ notice - he did not say anything. Kurapika appreciated that consideration more than words could say.

Gon settled his camera gently onto Kurapika’s glass table, mindful not to scratch the glass. He lay his head back in the cushion, his arms splayed out over the armrests and his gaze on the ceiling.

“Everything alright, Gon?” Leorio asked.

Gon sighed again, puffing up his cheeks and blowing out a loud raspberry. “I just thought this show would be light and fun. But this just… I feel like when the wind changes direction and you know a storm’s coming. I didn’t think there would be any _drama_ in these weddings.”

Kurapika exchanged a look with Leorio, arcing one brow. He stopped himself from asking Gon if he had ever attended a wedding prior to Menchi and Buhara’s and instead agreed, “I also think that this wedding will offer some unanticipated challenges. Did Morena say anything more on the elevator?”

Gon shook his head. “No, she was really quiet. It’s hard, watching her go from happy with Theta to upset whenever she gets those calls.” He looked out the window, taking in the curve of the bay in the distance. “It reminds me of my grandma and aunt when I asked them about my dad. I could tell it brought back old memories, so eventually I stopped asking.”

Gon needed to stop _saying those things_ with that cheerfully resigned affect. It left Kurapika wanting to give the poor kid a hug and a pep talk. Instead he gave a sigh of his own to match Gon’s. “Whatever it is, I’m sure that we will learn soon. We are checking out the wedding venue on Thursday morning with the Zoldycks, and I’ve no doubt we will learn whatever is the matter soon. Frankly, I would prefer the storm hit sooner rather than later. It will make cleanup easier.”

“Cheerful,” Leorio snorted. He picked up his phone again. “These rich people problems are so _stressful._ Worst-case scenario at a wedding on _my_ block, there’s a fight, or the groomsman sleeps with the maid of honor, or the groom shows up still drunk. Or the bride, it’s fifty-fifty. These people…” He shrugged. “I can’t even think of what the problem might be.”

“Someone refuses to share their jewels with the bride,” Kurapika said idly, his tone sarcastic. “Someone else wears white because they are upset with the happy couple. The caviar is lukewarm.”

“The _horror.”_ Leorio rolled his eyes skyward. “Speaking of caviar, anyone want dinner? I’m craving pho.”

“Are we done for the day?” Kurapika asked. “I have designs to start, and I can always make more lace, or we can look at places to find glass for your project. I should reach out to our cloth vendor to see what is available on such short notice -”

“Beef broth, spice bomb, pork buns?” Leorio rattled off Kurapika’s order.

“Obviously,” Kurapika replied before thinking about it. Before whatever he was going to say completely vanished from his mind in the realization that Leorio had memorized his pho order. His stomach flipped with something like butterflies, and he sipped his seltzer water in his best effort to drown them.

“Gon, what do you want?” Leorio asked. “You like the seafood bowl, right?”

“Yeah!” Gon replied cheerfully. “Add spring rolls?”

“Fine, twist my arm,” Leorio agreed easily, adding them. He tapped the order button. “Should be here in an hour. Kurapika, where’s your remote? Gon and I are making our way through this _abysmal_ medical drama, you _have_ to see this.”

Kurapika sighed, reaching behind his head to snag the remote and holding it out to Leorio. The man grinned at him, turning on the television and pulling up “dear old Daddy Netflix,” a statement that made Kurapika gently kick at his thigh.

If Kurapika didn’t move his feet back, his toes brushing the material of Leorio’s jeans, then no one mentioned it.

~

Leorio was squawking before Kurapika had even parked the car.

“Are you for fucking real?” He demanded. “A helicopter pad? That fucking thing has a _helicopter pad?_ For a _helicopter?”_

“Yes, hence the helicopter pad,” Kurapika said as he threw the car in park. He frowned through his windshield, taking in the four-hundred foot yacht. “A touch ostentatious, in my humble opinion.”

“A _touch?”_ Leorio repeated. “You could fit my whole block in that thing!”

“I’m sure,” Kurapika hummed. “Hence ostentatious.”

He stepped out of the car, hands going to button his blazer and don his sunglasses. Beside them, the Zoldycks parked their Mercedes and hopped out: Nanika in the driver’s seat, Alluka her passenger and co-pilot, Kalluto and Killua each stumbling irritably out of the backseat. It seemed they were displeased with their sister’s driving.

“Huh,” Killua observed, peering up at the yacht. “Cute little thing, isn’t it?”

_“‘Cute little thing?’”_ Leorio repeated.

Kalluto nodded, a hint of a smirk on their lips. “Quaint.”

“You’re shitting me,” Leorio muttered. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothed his palms over his shirt to smooth any wrinkles. “Cute and quaint. Like it’s a tricycle.”

“Might as well be,” Killua snorted. “It’s gaudy.”

Kurapika headed off any further bickering by leading the way to the yacht. The gangplank was down, inviting them aboard. He led the way up, the Zoldycks following him. Behind them was Leorio, still fumbling with his cuffs, and taking up the rear was Gon. Kurapika’s feet met the waxed wood of the deck, and he looked around, taking in the venue.

The yacht was at least five stories tall, four of which were above the water. The deck they were currently on featured a large patio area featuring a fully-stocked bar and a patio set that likely cost more than Kurapika’s previous six months’ rent. Sitting at this bar was the happy couple, Morena in a sundress and big floppy hat and Theta in a linen suit. They both beamed widely at seeing their planning team on their “big-ass fuckin’ boat,” to quoet Leorio’s initial impressions.

“Hello, you’re here!” Morena observed cheerfully. She set down her teacup and approached the team, Theta on her heels. “Welcome to _The Black Whale!_ Thank you so much for meeting us here.” She spread her arms. “What do you think? Will this work for a wedding venue?”

“So long as it is what you want, then yes,” Kurapika assured her. He craned his neck to take in the furnishings. The woodwork and lacquer was all in shades of gold, black, and tan; little about the décor was reminiscent of a _whale,_ of all things, but Kurapika actually rather preferred it that way. He did not want to have to juggle the couples’ wedding vision and whale paraphernalia. “Please, allow me to introduce my associates: Killua, Alluka, Nanika, and Kalluto Zoldyck. They will be tending to your menu and bar service for the reception.”

The couple made their introductions with the Zoldycks. Kurapika stepped back, allowing the family to run their business as they wished. They had already proven time and again that they were more than capable of handling themselves with prospective clients. They could be a tad unprofessional at times, and very childish others, but that packaged together with their undeniable skill and passion for the craft made them a formidable team.

A team that loved to sneak all sorts of strange spices into Killua’s recipes, but a team nonetheless.

“Excuse me,” Kurapika asked when he had a moment to speak to Theta. He jerked his chin in the direction of the upper decks. “Do you mind if we take a look around the public areas? To familiarize ourselves with the yacht.”

“Not at all, go ahead,” Theta replied, waving a hand. “We’ll be working with the Zoldycks for a few hours, I believe, so please make yourselves comfortable. Do whatever you like.”

“Thank you, we appreciate that,” Kurapika said. He nodded to Leorio, who only nodded back and allowed Kurapika to walk them to a set of stairs. They stepped up, briny air whipping their hair about their faces, to find a pool on the second deck. It was perhaps fifteen yards across, kidney-shaped, a built-in hot tub sitting in the inner curve. Various matching pool accoutrements around the deck, featuring their own bright umbrellas, completed the display.

“A freakin’ _pool,”_ Leorio mumbled to himself. Kurapika glanced up at him, taking in the sight of his fingers fiddling with his buttons and the tense set of his shoulders.

_Oh,_ Kurapika finally realized. He felt like a fool. He indicated a table under an overhang, settling into the shade and placing his things on the glass. Leorio sat across from him, yanking off his blazer to hang over the back of his chair. Kurapika was immensely grateful for his sunglasses in that moment, because he definitely spent too long watching Leorio’s muscles move under his shirt.

“Something is bothering you,” Kurapika observed. Leorio scoffed quietly to himself.

“Picked up on that, huh?” He asked sarcastically. Kurapika’s only reply was to simply lift a single brow. After a few long moments, Leorio sighed, his shoulders relaxing.

“Sorry, that was uncalled for.” He hesitated, tightening his jaw and running a hand over his scruff. “It’s just… it’s probably just the culture shock. Blue-collar kid from the docks, we used to watch big yachts like these float on by and wonder what life was like way up there, you know? So now that I’m on one of these things…” He waved his hands out, as if the pool or helicopter pad or the fine crystal glasses would finish his sentence. “I just feel… out of place, I guess. Ah, I’m explaining this all wrong.”

“I… don’t think so,” Kurapika said slowly. “It sounds to me like you feel… uncomfortable, amongst all the grandeur. Self-conscious.”

Leorio opened his mouth as if to reply, only to snap it shut again. “I guess so. It feels weird to complain about. Like, ‘oh, no, I’ve actually succeeded in class mobility, and now that I’m outside my comfort zone I constantly want to crawl into a ball from the sheer terror I’ll make a fool of myself.’ Especially with how great Morena and Theta have been. It’s not even about them, specifically, not really. It’s just…” He scoffed, a self-directed sort of anger curling his lip. “Isn’t it pathetic?”

Kurapika watched Leorio out of the corner of his eye, his thoughts spinning. In their near-three months of working together, he had never seen Leorio less than confident and magnetic, fitting into every situation he found himself in like he was made for it. Now, his colleague - his _friend?_ \- was so clearly wracked with self-doubt and anxiety, questioning himself as he stepped into a world whose very design was to make people like him feel small and less-than. Suddenly Kurapika _hated_ it, hated this world for all of its stupid in-rules and excessive, meaningless finery, its cruelty and its double-sided barbed wire fences that kept people trapped in it as much as it dissuaded those who tried to step inside.

Suddenly, Kurapika hated anything that made Leorio look like that, that made him question his worth and whether he belonged. As if he did not shine, constantly, effortlessly, perfectly.

“No,” Kurapika stated, stronger than he intended. Leorio looked at him sharply. But Kurapika was done with hiding that he liked Leorio, that he _cared_ about him. He reached up to pull his sunglasses off his face, heedless of the sudden burst of light made his eyes sting as he twisted to look at Leorio head-on. “No, I don’t think it’s pathetic at all. It’s perfectly natural to feel uncomfortable or unsure about yourself in a new environment, especially one like this, where new people are so heavily vetted and where ranks are so tightly closed. Morena and Theta are very much outliers in this realm, but I cannot fault you for feeling uncomfortable or out of place. But you are a brilliant, talented man with more natural warmth and integrity than these types can pour into a champagne flute.” Leorio was staring at Kurapika like he had never really seen him before. He could only look away, turning his gaze to the pool as the afternoon sun made the water sparkle. “From the first day we met, your confidence and friendliness has made you an endlessly kind presence to be around. You have a natural way with people that I envy. Please, never sacrifice that for the approval of others.”

He kept his gaze focused on his hands, his fingers knotted together so tightly his knuckles were pale. When the silence dragged on for too long, he finally scrounged up his courage and looked at Leorio. Who was staring back at him, eyes wide and surprised, mouth slightly open, his expression soft and touched and amazed.

Kurapika was probably imagining it, but he could physically hear the _schink_ and feel the impact as Cupid’s arrow pierced his heart.

(For perhaps the third time that week, but that was beside the point. It was getting harder and harder for him to ignore the verifiable quiver that was turning Kurapika’s heart into a pincushion.)

“That’s the nicest thing I think anyone has ever said to me,” Leorio told him. Kurapika wondered if he was imagining the odd waver in Leorio’s voice. Leorio was staring into the sun’s glare as it reflected off the bay’s surface, blinking repeatedly, his eyes watery.

“It’s true,” Kurapika breathed.

Leorio opened his mouth to reply, either to say something equally vulnerable and honest - which would _absolutely_ lead to Kurapika breaking out in hives and diving off the side of the yacht in short order - or to tell him he was being completely out of line and unprofessional, which would have stung exactly the way Kurapika _needed_ it to, marshmallow-centered fool he was melting into. But before he could speak, there was the sound of footsteps coming up the deck stairs. Kurapika tore his gaze away from Leorio’s to watch Morena as she approached them.

“I see you two have found one of the best spots on this ship,” she observed with a small smile. Indicating the table, she added, “My fiancé is showing the Zoldycks to the kitchen areas, and Gon is accompanying them. May I join you here?”

“Of course,” Kurapika said, making to stand and give her his chair, but Morena only waved him off and dragged another chair over. She settled into the deck chair with a sigh.

“How did you find that _adorable_ family?” She asked conversationally. “I haven’t even had their food yet and I want to hire them to cater every event I have to run for the rest of my career. And your cameraman, Gon? A delight.” She beamed, basking in the sunlight. “You have truly surrounded yourselves with an impressive crew.”

“Thank you,” Kurapika said, surprised and touched by her recognition. “They are all immensely talented and have added much-needed expertise to our team. And to answer your question, Gon found them in a magazine by chance. They were hired on the next day.”

“How fortuitous,” Morena said thoughtfully. “It seems we find exactly who it is we are looking for completely by accident.”

Kurapika pondered that. He could imagine Morena was thinking back to that eventful first meeting with Theta. He pictured Gon walking past that edition of _Fine_ magazine in a news stand by chance, doubling back when Killua’s white hair and ice-blue eyes demanded he look again. He remembered standing in a nondescript hall on the hundredth floor of an office building, his entire gravitational field shifting at the sound of one man’s laugh.

That man spoke up now, interrupting Kurapika’s thoughts before he could fall too far down this rabbit hole, which was likely for the best anyway. “Is something on your mind, Morena? You seem… off.”

Morena sighed, shaking her head. “I wanted to speak with you two alone. I haven’t been completely up-front about what has been going on.”

“With the calls,” Kurapika surmised. Morena sighed, running a hand through her hair.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “After what… happened… at Kakin several years ago, I cut off ties with most of my family. Considering how no one ever tried to reach out, I figured we were all in agreement that a clean break was for the best. Now, it has gotten out to them that I am getting married on this show, and they would like to… make amends. Starting with attending the wedding. I'm still figuring out if I believe that or not. If they really want to be back in my life. Or if they just see a camera and a spotlight and good press.”

Kurapika allowed a few moments of silence to ensure Morena was done speaking. He said, “You mentioned you cut off all but a few. Who are you still in contact with?”

“My sister-in-law,” Morena said, waving a hand. “Oito. She’s my father’s - my former CEO’s - seventh and latest wife, young enough to be his _granddaughter,_ the lech. I was cruel to her at first, thinking she was a class-climbing gold-digger, but I realized she is just a kind woman who found a way to secure a better life for herself.” She shook her head at herself. _“Ugh,_ sometimes I want to _cringe_ when I remember how cruel I used to be. To Oito, to Theta…

“Well, we stayed in touch. She is a good person surrounded by a den of snakes - and, perhaps, a total of two people I don’t _loathe_ \- so we kept in touch. But the family learned we’ve been talking, and that Oito is coming to the wedding as my maid of honor, so now the family is pushing to _all_ come,” Morena confessed.

“Do you want them to be here?” Leorio asked. All traces of the uncertainty he had revealed mere minutes ago was on. Now, he was in his element, supportive, attentive, and empathetic.

“No,” Morena answered immediately. Then she made a face, a mix between sour and irritated. “Yes. I don’t know. It’s so _complicated._ I dislike my family and I know I left them behind for a reason. But part of me thinks I’ll regret it if I don’t let them come. But another part of me is positive I’ll regret it if I _do_ let them come. I fear they’ll ruin the day, or make it about them, or upset Theta.” She looked at Kurapika and Leorio. “I don’t even know what I’m asking for here, exactly. Advice or a sympathetic ear or a plan. I know that a decision needs to be made, and I need to be the one who makes it. It’s not fair to ask you two to decide that, and it’s not Theta’s job to manage my family.”

“You can certainly blame us,” Leorio joked. “That might be somewhere in the contract clauses. Handling stressful families. Taking the blame. Throwing some punches.”

Before Kurapika could point out that they _probably_ weren’t allowed to hit the guests, Morena tossed back her head and laughed. There was a relieved tone to the sound, and she appeared much more relaxed as she told them, “I appreciate the offer, but I assure you, if they do anything to ruin our day, I will be the first in line.” She toyed with the hem of her dress. “Thank you for listening. It helps to talk about, even if we don’t come up with a cohesive solution. It feels silly, sometimes, to complain about problems, especially when others could rightfully say life has been handed to me on a platter.”

Leorio was quiet for a few moments, his head tilted thoughtfully. Finally he spoke softly, assuring Morena, “Of course. Families are complicated. _Feelings_ are complicated. Our backgrounds or experiences don’t make the feelings any less valid for having them. Bad family situations or interactions happen no matter what class we’re born into.”

“Whatever you decide,” Kurapika picked up where Leorio petered off, seamlessly coming in like a new thread introduced into a stitch, “We support you, and our job will be to make sure that _you_ get the wedding of your dreams. Yours and Theta’s. Not your father’s, or your mother’s, or anyone else in your family’s. That day is about you and Theta. And if anyone has a problem with that, they will have to go through us.”

Morena bit her lip, the motion a bit shaky as her mouth wobbled a bit. “Thank you. You two are… truly very kind.”

“Leorio does most of the heavy lifting,” Kurapika said quickly, making Morena laugh again. Leorio shot him a look, knowing what Kurapika was trying to do and absolutely refusing to let him push away all the credit.

“Well, Kurapika is the one who actually comes up with ideas.” His face brightened suddenly. “Speaking of ideas! Do you want to break things? Would that help with your stress, do you think?”

Which was a _hell_ of a way to introduce their idea for a chic, glamorous art piece for the reception, but Morena seemed interested. At least she huffed out a startled laugh, both taken aback and intrigued as she asked, “Oh? And what exactly do you have in mind, Leorio?”

Leorio explained the idea to her. He looked so eager to share the idea he and Kurapika spent an afternoon bringing to life, knowing this will give Morena and Theta the stress outlet they both craved. When he finished sharing, Morena looked downright delighted at the idea of taking various heavy glass objects and shattering them into millions of pieces.

“That’s _fantastic!”_ she cried, leaping to her feet. “I _love_ it, and I know Theta will, too. I’ll go tell her now and check on her. I’ll leave you two to plan more. I can’t _wait!”_

She waved to them both before sweeping off down the steps, her sundress flapping in the breeze as she walked. Kurapika sighed, reaching his fingertips up to rub at his temples.

At last, Leorio broke the silence.

“So how about that storm, huh, sunshine?”

“Shut up, Leorio.”


	5. you captivated every part of me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the heil-ly wedding comes to a dramatic head.
> 
> (part ii of the theta/morena wedding)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa thank you so much for your patience with me on this! this chapter is like, 21k words of self-indulgence. thank you in advance!
> 
> chapter title taken from ["come alive"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=awIORO-MF34) by rachel taylor.
> 
> lots of people last time were like "let's see the drama!!!!!" and readers??? i have DELIVERED. please enjoy!!!

“Kurapika, what do you think of this?”

Kurapika stopped his perusal of a lower shelf of glassware, standing upright to look at Leorio. The man was holding a salmon-colored vase in his hands, an ugly, dusty thing that looked like it was made some sixty years ago and not designed to age well. Frankly, he would have _loved_ to shatter it, but it likely would not have suited their needs for this little project.

“Too pink,” he said immediately.

“It’s the same color as the one in your hands,” Leorio argued. “It’s all _pink.”_

 _“This?”_ Kurapika asked, lifting the antique, stained-glass lampshade he was holding. This was not slated for destruction, as Leorio said he could pretty easily remove the individual glass pieces. “The colors are completely different. Hot pink, French rose, snapdragon, pink lemonade. _You_ are holding a bubblegum-pink _monstrosity_ that _never_ should have seen the light of day.”

“This shit is why I say you take design cues from my mother,” Killua snarked, which was his way of announcing his presence. He rounded the corner of the consignment shop aisle with Gon just behind him, both of their arms full of assorted glassware. Antique lampshades, novelty glasses and plates, vases, window panes - Leorio only said he needed _glass,_ and Kurapika only said they needed _“red_ -pink, not _white_ -pink or _blue_ -pink” (a statement which immediately made Leorio ask for another espresso shot to his coffee order as they waited in line at the hipster shop Killua had dragged them to for breakfast), so they were playing it fast and loose with their material sources.

Kurapika whirled around on Killua, smirk on his lips and hands on his hips. “Do I tell you how to do _your_ job?”

“Yes,” Killua said.

“All the time,” Leorio whined.

“Sometimes,” Gon admitted.

Kurapika looked at the three men, scowling and only about thirty percent meaning it. Then he realized _all of them_ were taller than he was, and he scowled for real.

“I am simply trying to do my job,” he stated loftily. He let his posture relax, showing the three that he was in no way actually upset and was just messing with them right back.

Leorio sent him a commiserating grin, setting the world’s ugliest vase back onto the shelf. “And you do it so well.”

Killua sent him a catlike smirk. But he only held up the glasses and plates in his hands, asking, “What d’you think of these, Kurapika?”

Kurapika studied the pair’s offerings. He accepted two of the three glasses Killua offered and everything Gon found.

“You have an excellent eye for color, Gon,” Kurapika praised. “Did you take composition classes when you were getting your tech certification?”

“Yeah,” Gon said, standing up a bit straighter and looking proud Kurapika had noticed. He made a mental note to compliment the man more in the future. “But I was good at it before then, actually. I played in the woods a lot as a kid, so I got really good at telling different plants apart by small differences, which included color! That kept me from falling into any poison ivy or oak or eating any poisonous leaves or berries.”

Kurapika blinked down at him. Every other time Gon spoke, he wondered if he was really a human, or if the fae had simply dropped him off on his Aunt Mito’s doorstep in a basket with a note that said, “he’s yours now.” “That is… _fascinating.”_

“You wandered all over the woods?” Killua asked Gon. “That’s so _cool,_ did you ever get to see any animals?”

“Yeah!” Gon replied cheerfully, depositing his glassware into their cart and turning to peruse the rest of this store. “All the time! I fished a ton, I should tell you about this _enormous_ trout I caught when I was twelve, I swear it was twice my size! Then there were all of these beautiful birds and other critters, and _frogs,_ and one time there was this foxbear…”

“No way, a _foxbear?_ Aren’t those super dangerous?”

“Not really, they’re only dangerous if you get too near their young or when they’re hungry…”

“That’s _always,_ though, Gon.”

Their voices trailed off. Kurapika grinned, shaking his head slightly at them. While Gon claimed he was not sure if Killua felt the same way he did, Kurapika suffered no such illusions. It was obvious to anyone who looked at the two that Killua was as starstruck as Gon, with the way his snarky, frigid exterior simply _melted_ every time he was with him. It was adorable, in a young, first-real-love kind of way. Kurapika did not know the details of the ways the Zoldycks were raised, but he gleaned enough to guess that the sort of silly frivolity that they engaged in now was not an option before. Not the loud, brash, loving banter the siblings shared; or the way Alluka and Nanika proudly wore their pins, and decorated their restaurant in the colors of the trans pride flag, and spent so many afternoons and weekends volunteering at an LGBT teen center in the city; or the way Kalluto joined them, always a shadow just a step behind, and the way they took up residence behind their bar and ran it like one would a kingdom or a military base, and the way they diced lemons and limes in half a second and threw olives ten feet into the air to catch in their mouth.

No, these siblings had blossomed even more in the short time Kurapika had known them. He had already seen it with the way Killua and Gon interacted as well. He saw it in the way the two got into ridiculous competitions or talked and talked for hours or simply lounged around together, always _so close_ but not quite touching, the air between their bodies practically humming with electricity.

“Those two are gonna give me a cavity,” Leorio said to Kurapika.

Kurapika beamed up at him. “You see it too, I take it?”

“Impossible not to,” Leorio said. He pushed their cart down the aisle, craning his neck to make sure the boys weren’t close enough to overhear. “I considered getting a bet going for when they’re going to get together.”

Kurapika bit his lip, fighting back a grin at the idea. It _did_ sound fun. Not to mention he was comfortable in his estimation that he would win. Still, he made himself say, “I worry that may backfire. What if they find out?”

“Then Killua will hop in on it, Gon may finally ask the poor kid out, and the rest of us can move on with our lives,” Leorio said. “Also, Kalluto already asked me to go in on it with them, Alluka, Nanika, and Palm.”

This time, Kurapika could not stop himself from laughing. “Well, if even Miss Siberia is involved… Very well. I’ll text Kalluto to see if it’s too late to get involved. What was your bet?”

“Uh,” Leorio said eloquently, tugging his phone from his pocket to check out the pool, apparently. “The reception at our fifth wedding.”

“You think it will take that long?” Kurapika asked.

“Given the way Killua still turns _scarlet_ every time Gon so much as breathes at him?” Leorio asked. “Yeah. But you are _welcome_ to try and prove me wrong, sunshine.”

“I believe I will do just that,” Kurapika replied archly. He took his phone out of his pocket as Leorio went to the register to ring them all up. He pulled up Kalluto’s contact information and sent, _I have learned of your betting pool regarding your brother and Gon. I confess, I am a bit hurt I was not invited to participate._

To their credit, Kalluto replied almost immediately. _Sorry! We worried you would stop it. Are you stopping it?_

Kurapika glanced up from his screen, eyes scanning the store. Killua and Gon were standing at the kitchenware area, apparently perusing the wares. Killua had discovered some kind of hidden gem, if the way his face was lit up was any indication. He looked delighted and young and _happy_ as he explained to Gon what exactly was so special about this particular pie dish. He seemed totally oblivious to the way Gon had one muscular arm propped on the shelf beside him, chin resting on his fist and stars in his eyes as he listened raptly.

Kurapika bit his lip to keep his smile at bay and replied, _Quite the contrary. I want in._

 _LMAO I TOLD THEM YOU WERE COOL I WIN $100,_ Kalluto replied. Then, before Kurapika could ask if those little monsters were actually betting on whether he would stop their bet, Kalluto sent, _$50 buy-in, then add anything else you want on top of that. If your time passes you don’t need to do another buy-in, but you add another 10 to the pot to update your bet. Sound good?_

It sounded too rich for Kurapika’s blood and _really_ good, if he were honest. He pulled up his online transfer app and sent $75, noting, _50 buy in, 20 for it to be during the prep for the 3rd wedding, 5 to get it right before Leorio._

 _A pleasure doing business with you,_ Kalluto texted, ever-professional.

“Ready to go?” Leorio asked as he approached, pushing their cart to where Kurapika was waiting near the door. He passed Kurapika the receipt, seeing that he was the one who handled their reimbursements and “was a very polite control freak,” a moniker Kurapika staunchly tried to deny with varying levels of success.

Kurapika nodded, accepting the paper and tucking it into his pocket book. “Are we done?”

Leorio nodded. It was their fifth Goodwill-slash-consignment shop of the day, and all of them were tired and ready to wrap this up. He went on, “We have enough things to smash, which will be great for this exercise. If we need anything more, we can go looking again, or I can just order more glass. Depending on how this wedding goes, _I_ may need to smash something.”

The reminder that this wedding was about to get a lot more complicated made Kurapika sigh. “In any case, for now we can drop these off and get some dinner. I’m starving.”

“Same,” Leorio agreed. He waved a hand to Killua and Gon. “C’mon, kiddos, time to ship out.”

“You’re such a _dad,”_ Kurapika muttered. A statement that Killua seemed to echo, if the way he rolled his eyes as he paid for his fancy new pie tin was any indication.

“We’re twenty-four,” Killua replied archly, squaring his shoulders and glaring up at Leorio.

“And I’m _thirty_ -four. You are a baby to me,” Leorio said, chuckling as he pushed their cart out of the store and starting to load things into Kurapika’s trunk. It was full of bags and larger pieces of glass, which made fitting the last of their bags into the space a bit like a game of Tetris. But eventually they made everything fit, and Kurapika settled into his driver’s seat with a sigh. He checked his watch, saw it was four-thirty.

“Do we need to get anything else?” He asked, ignoring the way Killua and Gon harmonized _mom_ in the backseat. “Or can we just drop these off at your studio-warehouse-thing, Leorio?”

“Nope, this is good,” Leorio said. “Lead the way.”

“Thank God,” Killua mumbled. Kurapika secretly echoed the sentiment, pulling out of the parking spot and following Leorio’s directions to his building space Netflix had procured for him.

The space was a far cry from Leorio’s backyard or garden shed. There was an artsy district near the docks, a series of warehouses repurposed into ultra-exclusive and expensive lofts, boutiques, and art galleries. Kurapika had thought about living there himself when he finally got the funds to live someplace nicer than his first shoebox of a studio, but it was too expensive back then. And now, if he were honest.

Leorio’s space was a large one he shared with fellow artists, father-and-son duo Zushi and Wing. Neither were there that day, so they were able to quickly empty Kurapika’s car. He was too tired to actually take in the entirety of the large space. He only noted the broad concrete floor, the flickering of the fluorescent lights overhead, the series of desks littered with designs and papers, the still-warm glass blowing furnace in the back corner. The space smelled like hot metal and wood shavings and paint, a scent that Kurapika thought he would have hated but in fact loved. It reminded him of the way the art studios smelled in high school and college.

“What now?” Gon asked as he finished setting down the last few bags, biceps barely even straining as he settled the glassware down.

“D’you want to come over for dinner?” Killua asked. He was mostly looking at Gon as he said it, but Kurapika knew the invitation extended to Leorio and himself, as well.

Gon agreed so quickly that Kurapika had a feeling he hadn’t heard anything beyond “do you want” and answered on instinct. Kurapika managed not to chuckle, but only just.

“I would be happy to,” Kurapika said. He glanced at Leorio. “And you?”

“Yeah, sure,” Leorio said, stretching his arms over his head and yawning loudly. “I’m tired and hungry. Beats takeout.”

“Thanks,” Killua said sarcastically. But there was a pleased sort of smile playing at his mouth as he led the way back to Kurapika’s car. He settled into the backseat as Kurapika started up the car. He was pleased to note that he didn’t even need his GPS anymore, once he made his way out of the winding maze of streets and got onto the highway.

“You’ve lived here for ten years, I’d _hope_ you knew your way around by now,” Leorio murmured tiredly to him. Kurapika managed not to reply sarcastically, but he actually missed a turn, so he decided he did not have any legs to stand on. Leorio propped his chin in his fist, temple nestled against the glass as he dozed. In the backseat, Gon and Killua were tilted towards each other, shoulders brushing and catnapping against one another.

Kurapika met Killua’s gaze in the rearview mirror. Cheeks that were already flushed a feather-boa pink darkened to rouge. He mouthed, _shut up._

Kurapika bit his lower lip, but it still wasn’t enough to hide the smirk on his face. Oh, he was _absolutely_ going to beat Leorio on this bet.

With the other three dozing in their afternoon naps, the drive was quiet and peaceful. Without mile-high skyscrapers surrounding them on all sides, Kurapika could really enjoy the evening sun as it set behind the rolling fields of corn, turning the yellow stalks to burnished gold. The wildflowers on the side of the highway looked like sparkling jewels in lavender and buttercup-yellow. In the distance, the restaurant-slash-homestead of _Something for Everyone_ looked warm and rustic, all reddish-brown brick and gleaming white paint.

The parking lot for the restaurant was full when Kurapika pulled up, but considering he was dropping off the business’s owner and master baker, he thought he could be excused for pulling into the driveway. Twisting around in his seat, he announced, “We’re here.”

“Hmm?” Gon asked sleepily, swiping at his eyes. He looked confused briefly before he realized his head was still tucked into the bony crook between Killua’s neck and shoulder. Instead of jolting away like a much shyer, more self-conscious man (read: Kurapika) would have, he beamed up at Killua. “D’you want to make that shepherd’s pie we were talking about earlier?”

“Sure.” The fact that Killua’s voice did not crack when faced with the full brunt of Gon’s sunburst grin made him a stronger man than Kurapika had perhaps given him credit for. The two stumbled out of the car and made their way into the house ahead of Kurapika and Leorio.

“Why are we so tired?” Kurapika wondered.

“Because we’ve been working since eight this morning, shopped for like, four hours, moved a bunch of things, and then you drove for an hour,” Leorio told him. He stretched out as he always did after he was trapped in Kurapika’s “clown car,” as he called it, for any period of time. Kurapika allowed his gaze to flicker over the suntanned skin over his arms, his neck, the strip of skin that his shirt revealed as it rode up.

Kurapika looked away sharply, his mouth dry. “That makes sense,” he said, and he walked into the house after the other two. If Leorio noticed his odd shut-down, he did not comment on it. He only chuckled to himself as he followed Kurapika into the Zoldyck residence.

He had never been inside the Zoldyck residence before, Kurapika mused as he stepped inside. Peeling his shoes off in the entryway, he peered around the old farmhouse. It looked like a group of newly-emancipated, queer young adults with a lot of money to burn had taken over a renovated mansion built over a hundred years ago. Which, when he thought about it, was exactly what the Zoldycks’ home was. Everything was hardwood floors and creamy white walls and crown moldings and _chaos._ The walls were covered in framed art from various conventions, band posters, and assorted family photos of just the four of them. Soft couches were bedecked with squishy cushions and throw pillows embroidered with rude sayings. What looked like miles of string lights ran across the ceiling, leaving the overhead lights superfluous. There was a television above a working fireplace, and every spare bit of space was taken up by books, coasters, discarded clothes, candles. It was full and cluttered and _homey_ in a way that little in Kurapika’s life was.

“Amazing, right?” Leorio asked, standing beside Kurapika. “I’d forgotten you haven’t been in here yet.”

“I forgot you had,” Kurapika confessed, belatedly remembering Leorio getting ready for the Menchi-Buhara wedding upstairs. “Is the rest of the estate like this?”

Leorio snorted. _“Estate,_ he says. Well, it’s not wrong. And yeah, the rest of the place is amazing. There’s like. A dozen fireplaces? Who needs that many fireplaces?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Kurapika hummed as he wandered down the halls, following the sounds of Gon and Killua rattling in the kitchen.

 _“Kiiiiillua,_ come on!” Gon was laughing, reaching for something that Killua had hidden behind his back. “There’s so much work to do, let me help!”

“Absolutely not,” Killua said, lifting his pointed chin. There was a Cheshire grin flickering over his lips. “You’re all my _guests._ I can hardly expect my guests to cook, can I?”

“I think you just want to show off, kiddo,” Leorio said, his shoulder gently brushing Kurapika’s as he stepped into the kitchen. Unlike the rest of the house, which looked like it came straight from the pages of a Victorian novel, the kitchen was beautifully refurbished. It was all sleek steel appliances and meticulously organized cabinets and _a gas stove, we're not heathens here,_ Killua insisted. Kurapika was utterly positive that the pantry in the corner was the size of his walk-in closet.

Killua went pink over the back of his neck. “Of course I do.”

“We can still help you prep _and_ let you cook,” Gon said. “That way you can still amaze us all with your culinary expertise, and we don’t have to wait until the middle of the night to eat.”

“I take offense to that,” Killua announced. He took up a potato and peeler and peeled the entire thing in a few smooth, steady twists of his wrist. In a few moments he had a perfectly-peeled potato in his hands. He had a wide, smug, mischievous smirk on his lips as he assured them all, but Gon specifically, “I am _very_ good with my hands.”

Kurapika and Leorio exchanged half-amused, half-horrified, half-hysterical expressions _(yes,_ he knew that meant one and a half; _no,_ he did not care), wordlessly asking each other the same question: _should we leave?_

Kurapika was honestly impressed at the ease with which Gon responded to such an innuendo, but his only reaction was to blush a becoming tawny color and say, “I figured. What else can you do?”

Leorio picked that exact moment to choke on air, apparently, hiding his laughter in a series of loud, hacking coughs. Killua and Gon turned to him, Killua looking irritated and embarrassed, Gon just concerned.

“Are you alright, Leorio?” Gon asked.

“I believe it is just allergies,” Kurapika said smoothly, stepping all the way into the kitchen and approaching the refrigerator. “The pollen count was unusually high today. Killua, where do you keep your glasses?”

“Third cabinet on the left,” Killua said. “That one - no, no the other one - no, your _other_ left - yes, that one” he said when Kurapika finally found it.

Kurapika did not reply, only filling some glasses with water and then taking the bar stool beside Leorio. The man sent Kurapika an appreciative nod and raised his glass in a toast as he sipped.

“Do you want anything?” Killua asked Gon. He sent Kurapika a look, as if annoyed he hadn’t offered, which Kurapika thought was _rich_ coming from him. Guests, his ass.

“Yeah, it’s been a long day,” Leorio deadpanned. “I imagine you’re thirsty.”

Killua blushed even darker; Kurapika twisted his ankle to hit Leorio’s with his heel. Leorio buried his nose into his glass. Gon, to his eternal credit, only smiled.

“Yeah! Killua, do you want some tea? Alluka and I had some of that black rose tea - the one with black tea and roses, not made _with_ black roses, because those don’t exist, but it would be so cool if they did - last time I was here.”

Killua tucked his chin into his collar, because apparently he could come on to Gon in front of essentially his _bosses_ without issue, but he drew the line at anything resembling _domesticity._ It was adorable to watch, and Kurapika’s _big brother, must tease_ instincts were raring to make some kind of soft-spoken, witty quip about it.

Then again, perhaps the entire situation also struck a bit too close to the chest for Kurapika to find it in himself to gently tease. So he swallowed his words and accepted the cup of tea Gon handed him several minutes later.

The rest of the evening passed peaceably. Killua and Gon certainly flirted, Gon blatant and Killua a shy but no less willing participant. It was excellent entertainment as Kurapika and Leorio helped prepare dinner by peeling potatoes and carrots for the pie. It was surprisingly nice, Kurapika thought, sitting with his colleagues (his _friends)_ and simply… existing. Killua put on some music, occasionally nodding along to the folk band. It sounded uncannily like the same music Gon had put on in Kurapika’s car several weeks ago. He and Gon moved around each other in the kitchen with the sort of ease and familiarity that was borne of years of friendship; if Kurapika hadn’t known better, he would have thought they had known each other forever, and not only for three months.

Actually, if Kurapika didn’t already know better, he would have thought they were _already dating._ The only reason he knew that wasn’t the case was because Kalluto and Nanika insisted on it, and Kurapika had a feeling those two knew everything that happened within their orbit. Also, Killua still got flustered when Gon acted with gentleness towards him or simply paid him a genuine, if over-the-top compliment. Their behavior was so saccharine-sweet that by the time they had finished dinner, Kurapika was honestly glad to say that, no, he did not want dessert, and he really ought to be getting home now. Leorio was only too happy to agree, leaping up from his spot on the couch almost before Kurapika had finished asking if he wanted to head out.

Killua sent the two of them a suspicious look for their eagerness to leave, but he was too busy actually offering Gon the spare room to really mean it.

Still, he insisted they take some leftovers and a tupperware box of éclairs for the road, so Leorio had those in his hands as they made their way to Kurapika’s car. They were quiet as he unlocked the doors with a hit of the button, each silently settling into their seat and clicking on their belts. In unison, they released a long, long sigh.

Leorio spoke first: “What the hell was that?”

He sounded so confused, so jokingly horrified, Kurapika could not help it: he laughed, full-throated and from his stomach. He had half a mind to apologize to Leorio, except then _he_ started laughing as well, and oh, _oh,_ it was a thrilling sound, loud and delighted and genuine. The lights from _Something for Everyone_ next door shone on his skin, the shadows sharpening the contours of his face. Kurapika did not want to look away.

So he didn’t. _“What,_ indeed. That… that _thing_ with the potato?”

Leorio snorted. “I couldn’t have missed it if I tried! And I _would_ have tried, damn. Did you see the part where Gon fed -”

 _“-Fed him the carrot,_ yes, I saw,” Kurapika said, shuddering partially because he wanted to and mostly for dramatic effect. He looked at the glow of light shining through the Zoldycks’ red curtains. “I think we’re actually in their way.”

Leorio scoffed again. “I think I’m glad for it, if that’s the case.”

“You’re not going to win the bet,” Kurapika warned him, finally turning the engine over so they could finally get home. The clock on the dashboard showed it was past nine o’clock, and he all he wanted was to shower and throw himself face-first into his bed that was more pillows than anything else. “And don’t you dare try and sabotage them just to win.”

“I would _never,”_ Leorio insisted. “Maybe I’d make them, you know, _chill the hell out a bit._ But I’d never stand in the way of true love.”

Kurapika smiled to himself. “I know you wouldn’t.”

The drive home was quiet, and Kurapika was finally comfortable enough with Leorio that he did not fear his brain melting out of his ears at the realization that this was their first time alone like this in such close quarters. Their time together was peaceful and enjoyable, and Kurapika found he could just… breathe. Simply _be,_ existing in his own space with his own thoughts as he drove.

One time, he nearly commented on Leorio’s unusual silence, glancing away from the long stretch of highway in front of them, only to see that his friend was fast asleep. His arms were folded over his chest, head tilted back, lips slightly parted. The lights over the road kept illuminating his face in flickers of yellowish-orange light, highlighting the shadows cast by his lashes, catching on the five o’clock shadow over his jawline.

Kurapika looked away, turning his eyes back to the road. If he focused on the speedometer, he could almost ignore the wonderful warmth unfurling in his chest that grew in time with the smile on his face. A tiny, fond smile, a secret just for him.

He could almost ignore yet another arrow as it pierced his sternum.

He was quiet until he pulled up to a stop outside of Leorio’s building. He reached over and gently jostled Leorio’s shoulder, ordering, “Wake up. You’re home.”

“Hmm?” Leorio murmured, a low rumble that shot straight down Kurapika’s spine like a shooting star to pool in a completely inappropriate, mistimed heat in his stomach. Blearily, Leorio blinked himself awake, looking confused at his surroundings before his gaze settled on Kurapika. Then, so help him, he sent Kurapika a slow, sleepy smile, his eyes still half-lidded. “We’re home?”

It took over ten years’ of hard-hewn professional, aloof instinct for Kurapika not to scream or _swoon_ like the gay little disaster man he was apparently becoming. Instead, he only replied, _“You_ are home. _I_ still have a twenty-minute drive across town to my loft. Get out of my car.”

He let a bit of the warmth in his chest leak into his voice, softening his tone so Leorio would know he meant it in jest. Sure enough, Leorio chuckled.

“Yes, sir.” He looked down at the box of pastries in his hands. “Do you want one of these?”

He opened the box and removed an éclair, biting into it.

“I said I hate people eating in my car,” Kurapika warned him playfully, sending Leorio a mock-glare. There was a little bit of chocolate frosting stuck on the corner of Leorio’s mouth. It took all of Kurapika’s self-control not to reach over and swipe it away with his fingers. Or his mouth.

Good _God,_ Kurapika had gone on _dates_ with people he was actually _in a relationship with_ and he had _never_ ended a night wanting to kiss another man _this badly._

“Yeah, yeah,” Leorio said, “Do you want an éclair or not, though? Because these are really good, and I _will_ eat the entire box.”

“Just set it in a napkin,” Kurapika told him.

Leorio nodded sleepily, settling an éclair in a napkin he dug out of Kurapika’s glove compartment, because of course he had spare napkins there. Leorio sent him a little salute as he got out of the car.

“Night, K’pika,” he said, the abbreviation of his name sounding like _Kah-pika,_ and Kurapika had to curl his hands into fists on his steering wheel to keep them off of Leorio. What was _wrong_ with him tonight? “See you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight,” Kurapika said, watching Leorio’s back as he made his way to his door. He stayed where he was, waiting until Leorio swiped his key fob to make his way into his building. Kurapika wondered if he was crestfallen or relieved that Leorio did not look back.

He knew which he should be. But lately, reality was rarely as simple and straightforward as he wished it was.

The éclair was delicious when Kurapika finally bit into it, alone in his loft’s kitchen. It probably would have tasted better if he shared it with a friend, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

~

“Do you think there are enough tarps down?” Kurapika asked, lifting a brow quizzically as he walked into the warehouse the next morning. He knew it had been less than a day since he saw Leorio, and still he had spent his morning looking forward to seeing the man.

Leorio looked up from his workshop table, one brow cocked. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”

“Mostly sarcastic,” Kurapika assured him. He handed Leorio the coffee he had picked up on his way over - a vanilla latte, and he desperately hoped Leorio would not remember that he had not asked him to pick up a coffee, which meant that Kurapika had his order memorized. Which he did. But he did not want Leorio realizing that.

Then again, Leorio knew his pho and Zaban orders by heart. Maybe it wasn’t too weird at all, then.

Leorio sent him a small grin, a knowing expression on his face like he had picked up on exactly all the undertows that Kurapika wished he wouldn’t. But all he did was accept the coffee and sip it, surveying his half of the warehouse. White tarps covered the wall and floor, pristine so that all the pink shards would stand out. Not that anyone would be walking over the field of broken glass with bare feet, but Leorio simply deemed it safest to create a designated Destruction Zone where he would be keeping his glass materials, and when everything was nice and shattered, he would sweep the pieces into a pile to pick through for his sculpture.

“Where is Gon?” Kurapika asked. Leorio looked up at him sharply.

“I haven’t heard.” He thought for a moment. _“Shit,_ do you think they -”

“I hope so,” Kurapika told him. He smirked. “I have money riding on being right before you.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Leorio said as the door opened. Speak of the devil, Gon walked through, freshly showered and shaved from his night at the Zoldycks’. He looked cheerful and well-rested, and when Kurapika gave him a quick once-over, he lacked any tell-tale marks that might have given his nightly activities away.

Well. At least that meant he was still in the running.

“Morning!” Gon called brightly. He approached them and took up a position on a bar stool. “Ooh, is this for me?”

“It is,” Kurapika confirmed, because it seemed poor form to say that he would _never_ drink matcha green tea, thank you, because matcha tasted like grass clippings. But clearly Gon found something to enjoy with it, because he accepted the cup Kurapika held out to him and sipped. Kurapika and Leorio exchanged looks, exchanging the messages, _do we ask him what happened_ and _I don’t want to ask, you do it_ and _how does he drink matcha, it tastes like dirt._

“How was your night?” Leorio asked, sipping his coffee.

“Really fun!” Gon replied. “After you left, Killua and I played Smash Brothers for a while and just hung out. Then his siblings came home from work and we all just sat around talking for a bit. I crashed in one of their guest rooms, and Killua gave me a ride back to my apartment after breakfast.” He glanced between them before innocently asking, “How was _your_ night?”

The clever little shit. Kurapika set his coffee down, saying, “It was short. I drove Leorio home, and then I went back to my place. I spent the morning working on the mock-ups of Theta and Morena’s outfits.”

“I’ve been here,” Leorio said, waving his hand in the direction of the area behind him. “Getting things set up. They should be here soon, yeah?”

“Yes,” Kurapika confirmed. Which was excellent timing, because as he lifted his wrist to glance at his watch, the door to the warehouse opened and the sound of their couple’s voices filled the space.

“I _told_ you, darling, I will only sign that prenup under very specific conditions,” Theta was telling Morena as she stalked into the warehouse. “If they want _me_ to sign it, they will need to concede to _my_ demands.”

“You don’t _need_ to sign it at all,” Morena replied, a frown on her lovely face. “I am an adult getting married. Not a child going on a school trip. I don’t need their permission to marry you, nor do I want it. I don’t give a damn about their approval.”

“Oho,” Theta said, whirling around on her fiancé, a devilish smile on her face. It was not a happy expression. “But consider: I _want_ to sign this goddamn prenup.”

Kurapika exchanged alarmed looks with Leorio. Seeing that he took the plunge to ask Gon about his night, Kurapika figured he could take care of this one. “Is everything alright, Morena, Theta?”

“Just peachy!” Theta crowed.

 _“No,”_ Morena said, looking genuinely upset.

Theta arrived at their table, hands on her hips and a wolfish smile on her lips. Though she was looking over the wedding team, her words were directed to Morena: “Do you want to tell them, or shall I, Mo? They’ll find out nevertheless.”

Morena sighed heavily, rubbing her fingers over her temples. “Since you are so eager to share, who am I to deprive you the opportunity?”

Theta laughed sharply. She turned to the others to explain, “Morena’s family is trying to get me to sign a prenup. Apparently, they think I’m simply a golddigger here for their family’s billions. Never mind that Morena has been estranged from those vampires for years.”

Kurapika frowned. “But… you said you _wanted_ to sign this document?”

Theta beamed. “Because I told them that the only way I’ll sign it is if I get one free swing on one of those assholes per year.”

Leorio snorted on his coffee, spilling half his mouthful onto his shirt and then coughing the rest up as he _howled_ with laughter. Kurapika looked a touch more scandalized, but Gon only looked confused.

“Um, sorry,” he said apologetically. “I’m sure this is very funny, but I don’t know what a prenup is?”

“It’s _not_ funny,” Morena moaned.

“It’s _hysterical,”_. Theta corrected.

Kurapika sighed again. “A prenup, or prenuptial agreement, is a document signed by both parties entering into a marriage to divvy up their assets - properties, bank accounts, et cetera - before the wedding.”

“It’s because they’re expecting me to end the marriage and they think I’m going to take Mo for all she’s worth,” Theta giggled. There was a hard, wrathful gleam in her eyes. “So if they want to stick their noses where they don’t belong and tell me just what they think of me as I enter into their bullshit, I think I deserve to tell them what I think of them in turn. One free swing a year. Anyone I want, any time, no warning. I get to pop off just _once._ I’ll even be nice about it, and not insist that it rolls over from one year to another if I don’t use it.”

“Yes, but the downside is now there is an annual fight to look forward to,” Morena said.

“Only if they don’t behave,” Theta said, shrugging a shoulder. “But imagine. Just utterly _decking_ Tserriednich.”

That made Morena’s mouth snap shut. Thoughtfully, she admitted, “That _is_ a good point.”

“Tserriednich is your… brother?” Kurapika asked, trying to remember what he read about in that article several weeks back. If he recalled correctly, Tserriednich was one participant in Ruo’s succession war whose name had come up several times, none of which for a good reason.

“Half-brother,” Morena explained. “He is the Kakin Corporation’s Chief Financial Officer. At least he was last I talked to him, which was years ago.”

“He’s an asshole,” Theta explained cheerfully. “I’ve met him several times at various professional conferences. He’s condescending, cruel, and an utterly ruthless businessman. He’s certainly brilliant, but he’s a nightmare to work for.”

“Sexist?” Leorio asked.

“Surprisingly, not that I’ve seen,” Morena confessed. “He seems an equal-opportunity shithead. He’s too up his own ass about how amazing he is to really make gender distinctions among anyone else.” Thoughtfully, she looked over the glass objects on the table. “Can we just get started whenever?”

Kurapika met Leorio’s gaze. The other man shrugged as if to say, _this was all I had planned._ So he shrugged. “By all means.”

“Excellent,” Morena said with relish. Without further ado, she hefted up a vase and flung it at the wall. It shattered with a very satisfying _crash,_ glass shards ricocheting out across the tarp. She made a wide-eyed expression of joy Kurapika had only seen in emojis. “That’s _so_ satisfying!” Eagerly, she snatched up a novelty mug to hand to Theta. “Darling, you _have_ to try this.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Theta said. She measured the weight of the mug in her hands consideringly before she chucked it in an epic overhand throw that wouldn’t be out of place on a pitcher’s mound.

Theta cheered; Leorio grinned widely. Theta put her left hand to her right shoulder, working out the kinks as she rolled it. Still, she was beaming as she admired her handiwork. “Still got it.”

“I’ll say!” Leorio said. “Did you play baseball?”

“College softball,” Theta agreed. “Pitcher. Morena, love, hand me another mug?”

“No, this one’s mine,” Morena said. She threw it against the wall. It broke into a few larger pieces, her arm lacking the power and coordination of Theta’s.

“Oh, you can do better than that,” Theta teased. She passed Morena another cup. “Think of your aunt for this one.”

This time, the glass exploded against the wall. Morena cheered like she had just hit a home run.

 _Oh, dear God,_ Kurapika thought, almost lightheaded. _This family will be the death of me._

“Ahem,” he said, clearing his throat. He tried to phrase the question, _what the hell is happening here_ as tactfully as he could. “It seems that there is some tension between you and your aunt, Morena?”

“Oh, yes.” With an array of breakable objects in front of her, Morena seemed much more open about her family struggles. Or perhaps she was so far past stressed and irritated that she had finally entered the realm of _no fucks given._. “Unma. She’s Ruo’s ex-wife, but somehow _she’s_ the official matriarch of the family, the one who is insisting we all make nice, but only according to _her_ rules. She’s the one who demands Theta sign the prenup.”

“I see,” Kurapika said. He sat in one of the chairs and took out his planner to make notes. Perhaps draw up a diagram. “Is she coming to the wedding?”

“Yep,” Morena said. “She _insists._ And I don’t have the energy to fight her anymore. And then there’s Sevanti, who acts like her life and her problems are the only things worth paying attention to, so she gets pissy when we talk about this at all. She thinks I should just be cut off if I don’t want anything to do with them all. Which I keep saying I’m fine with, because that’s why I left. But _no,_ it wouldn’t _look good._ Because we’ve had such good press the past few years.”

“They’re trying to _make_ this good press,” Theta said cheerfully. She whipped her glass against the wall, where it shattered into dozens of pieces.

The stories kept coming. Benjamin was a self-centered prick who was liable to pick a fight with anyone he thought was looking at him the wrong way, and he had the arrest record to prove it; Camilla would sell them all out for a Gucci handbag or a billion-dollar merger as easily as she breathed; Zhang was pleasant enough in conversation, and he had never actually _done_ anything reprehensible that Morena knew of, but he just had a _vibe._ He was good enough not to outwardly be an asshole, but neutral enough not to stop the others from being… themselves. Tsseriedich was exactly the type to start a family fight for fun. Duazul had “no discernible personality,” and Swinko-Swinko cared for little that was not her son. Kacho and Fugetsu were nice enough, and they had a chance not to be terrible adults once they left for college, but they were spoiled and clueless about what life was like for anyone outside their ultra-elite, exclusive bubble.

“Do you _like_ any of your family?” Leorio finally asked. He looked a bit green in the face from the sheer volume of _chaotic disaster_ that was barrelling towards them. Kurapika was only keeping himself from face-planting into the table through sheer force of will. That feeling like he was tied to the rails with a runaway train hurtling towards him, screaming whistle and all, was back with a vengeance.

“Halkenburg doesn’t suck,” Theta admitted. “He has the personality of a saltine, but he’s nice enough.”

“Oito and I are close,” Morena said. “She’s the only one I actually _want_ to come to this, actually. She’s going to be my maid of honor and gets into town later on this week. She has her own baggage, of course, but that’s just par for the course.”

“Baggage?” Kurapika repeated.

Morena shrugged. “She’s ten years younger than me and technically my mother-in-law. She’s Nasubi's seventh - no, eighth wife. Her daughter, Woble, is ten months old now, I think?” She lifted up one of the last pieces of glassware. “So, you make of that what you will.”

She threw a serving tray against the wall like it was a frisbee; Kurapika exchanged a look of pure, ghastly horror with Leorio. Except instead of terrified, Leorio only looked thoughtful, one finger tracing along his jawline. Finally, apropos of nothing, he said, “I’m just imagining what Thanksgivings are like.”

And somehow, incredibly, _magically,_ sputtering over his mouthful of coffee, Kurapika _laughed._

~

“Oh, _Kurapika,”_ Theta gasped when she saw herself in the mirror. Her eyes were wide as she took in the suit Kurapika had spent the past three days making. The suit jacket was cut close to her figure, cinched at the waist and the lapels cut low to flaunt Theta’s cleavage. To the unknowing observer, it looked like there wasn't a top beneath the suit jacket, but instead there was a tight-fitting, lacy bodice beneath it. The white pants hugged the curves of Theta’s hips, and with a wide grin, she tapped a finger to her tongue and poked her hip, letting out a _“tss”_ hissing sound. “This is amazing! What magic is this? I look _hot!”_

Kurapika bit his lip, ducking his head with a smile. “You are too kind. I have not done any magic besides tailoring to what was already there.”

“Oh, no,” Theta said, shaking a finger at Kurapika. “Don’t try and downplay this. You are a _whiz_ with your work.” She twisted around to look at her backside. “Oh, my - I have a _great_ ass!”

“I agree,” Gon said from behind his camera. “In a respectful way! You look wonderful, Theta.”

“I hope Morena will be a little less respectful about it,” Theta smirked. Kurapika grinned up at her. Theta went on, “While I’m here… can I get a sneak peek at Mo’s dress?”

“Absolutely not,” Kurapika said. “I am going to make a sign that says couples will not be able to see each others’ outfits until the wedding day.”

“Boo,” Theta sighed. She held out her arms, rolling her shoulders to test the mobility of the fabric. “Can I get a little more give in the arms, by any chance? I plan to party by dancing with extreme gumption, and I am _terrible_ at it.”

“Certainly,” Kurapika assured her. He made a note in his sketchbook. A few centimeters would make a world of difference. “Anything else?”

“Nope, that’s it,” Theta said. “I assume you want me to change out of the suit before Morena gets here in a few minutes?”

“Yes,” Kurapika insisted. He gently nudged her off the pedestal. “How are things on the prenup front?”

“Would you believe that my ‘one free slap’ a year offer was roundly rejected?” Theta called from behind the changing room door. There was a trustling of fabric, and a few minutes later she stepped out re-dressed in her jeans and old band t-shirt. She had carefully hung up her outfit back on its hangers and passed them to Kurapika. “Wouldn’t even compromise. Unbelievable.”

“Indeed,” Kurapika said. Theta snickered, reaching for her purse.

“I _probably_ would never do it,” she confessed. “But the fact that they’re so into demanding I sign this form… it makes me feel shitty. Like they think I’m only marrying Morena for her money. Like they think the marriage is doomed to fail already, and they’re planning ahead to cut their losses.” Her short-cropped nails dug into the straps of her handbag. “They weren’t there for her at all these past few years. The papers raked Morena’s name and reputation through the _mud,_ and they did _nothing._ And now they’re trying to sweep in and insert themselves back into her life, taking control of her wedding? Fuck them.”

“‘Control her wedding?’” Kurapika repeated, his brows furrowed.

Theta rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Yeah. The guest list, the floral arrangements, the seating chart, the food and drink specials… Unma likes to be in charge, and she _loves_ to be right. The Zoldycks were kind enough to indulge her while she was at the restaurant, and then Kalluto emailed us after she left to confirm all of our original plans.”

“I was unaware of this,” Kurapika said with a frown. “That they have been trying to insinuate themselves into the preparations so directly.” He would have to reach out to the Zoldycks to make sure they were doing alright, as well. They were all a team, but _he_ was the one who was technically supposed to be the “brains” and the leader behind this operation. He refused to allow them to dangle without support. Leorio might refer to it as big _“I_ Am the Manager” energy.

“I suggested we go to you about it, but they didn’t seem to want to share more,” Theta frowned. “They just said they had lots of experience with Unma’s type. Which I feel even worse about.”

There was a buzzing sound as Morena arrived at the building for her dress fitting, ahead of schedule as always. Gon went to buzz her in, giving Theta some time to collect herself.

“I can see how this has been weighing on you,” Kurapika told her gently. “I wish there was more I could do to offer support. I can only say that Morena is lucky to have such a steadfast ally and supporter by her side.”

“It’s what I signed up for,” Theta said, twisting her engagement ring around her finger. “I just see how this is affecting her, and even if I know that she feels better after talking to me about it, I just feel _so angry_ watching everything come up for her again.” She breathed in deep, squaring her shoulders. “But at the very least, the wedding is in less than a week. So this will be over soon, and Mo and I can start the next chapter. I’m still so, so excited for that, and nothing in the world is going to take that away from us.”

“I’m glad,” Kurapika said softly. The words felt lame once they left his lips, but they were in earnest. Theta seemed to appreciate them, at least, and her bearing relaxed as Morena walked through the door. To Kurapika’s surprise, she was accompanied by a woman about his own age, or perhaps a few years older. She wore her curly, wiry black hair back in a braid and she had dark brown eyes. Tucked over her arm was a pink, covered baby carrier, and Kurapika’s blood pressure _skyrocketed._

“Mo!” Theta cried. Her previous bad mood forgotten or suppressed (Kurapika suspected it was both), she hugged her partner tightly around her hips and pressed a kiss to the underside of her jaw, which was as high as Theta could reach with Morena in her heels. “Good morning, babe.”

“Hello, darling,” Morena greeted, her cheeks pink.

“And Oito! How are you? How was your flight?” Theta carefully maneuvered herself around the baby carrier in the woman’s arms and hugged her over her shoulders. The two women exchanged pecks on the cheeks.

“It was wonderfully uneventful,” Oito said. She smiled and looked exhausted in that way that all first-time parents seemed to perpetually be. “Woble slept the entire time - oh, thank you,” she said as Theta gently untangled the baby bag from Oito’s her arm.

Finally, Kurapika’s brain caught up with everything that had happened these past several minutes and kicked back into professional mode. He approached, meeting Oito’s gaze.

“Oh, I’ve been so rude,” Morena cried. “Oito, this is Kurapika. He and his team have been essential in pulling this wedding together, and none of this would have been possible without him. Kurapika, this is Oito, my maid of honor.”

“A pleasure,” Kurapika said, shaking Oito’s hand. To his surprise, her grip was sure and firm, her gaze unnervingly direct as she sized him up. A few moments later she smiled at him, ducking her head in a slight nod.

“And you.” She glanced between the happy couple, sharing, “I’m told that you have been incredibly supportive of Morena and Theta as this wedding comes together, and in more ways than one. Thank you for that.”

“It is my job,” Kurapika assured her softly. Which, okay, _was_ perhaps a bit lame to say out loud. But it was: to bring the couple’s wedding dreams to life, from their minds to sketchbook pages to reality. To support the couple’s desires, and no one else’s.

It was, surprisingly, not all that different from his work before with managers of various actors and actresses. Managers who wanted their clients dressed in something form-fitting, sheer, plunging, sexy, _eye-catching_ when all Kurapika’s clients wanted was to walk down the mile of red carpet feeling confident and not like their feet were going to fall off.

“And you do it well,” Oito stated. She glanced around the space, taking in the city view through the bay windows and the careful organization of the studio. “You have a lovely home.”

“Thank you,” Kurapika said, indicating one of the visitor chairs he kept in his studio area for her to sit in. “Please, make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything?”

“The strongest coffee you have, actually, would be wonderful,” Oito said. She sighed as she settled into the chair, her eyes closing for a few seconds as if she could simply fall asleep there. “It does not need to be _good_ coffee, mind you. Only strong.” She glanced fondly down at the still-covered baby carrier on the floor beside her. “Woble decided to stay up all night so she could be extra good today. Which is, I grant, very considerate of her. I only wish she had told me this was her plan.”

Kurapika laughed softly. “I see. Give me a few moments, and I will get that for you.”

He walked into the kitchen to brew the coffee with his rarely-used keurig machine; it was something he really only used for visiting clients, because it was fast and could make various drinks quickly. If left to his own devices, he would prefer to use his regular drip coffee maker or his French press.

 _(“Of course you’re a huge coffee snob,”_ Leorio had said the first time he watched Kurapika carefully measuring and grinding his coffee beans, way back in that first week of working together and selecting couples for their show. _“Why am I not surprised?”_

 _“I haven’t the faintest, because you so rarely resist the opportunity to call me a snob the rest of the time,”_ Kurapika said airily. Leorio looked briefly guilty before Kurapika had sent him a small smile. He slid the dolphin ceramic towards Leorio to show there were no hard feelings. _“Sugar?”_

 _“Please,”_ Leorio had said, spooning far more sugar than was necessary into his mug. There was a small smile playing about his lips that Kurapika had not wanted to look away from, but he made himself anyway.)

The loud sound of the keurig spitting out its coffee jolted Kurapika from his thoughts. He mentally shook himself back into the correct mind space as he took the mug to give to Oito.

“Sugar?” He asked. “Creamer?”

“No, this works,” Oito said. Then, disregarding the scalding temperature of the coffee, she raised the cup to her lips and downed half of the mug.

“Oito,” Morena gasped, looking both alarmed and awed. Theta laughed aloud as she stood up, hitching her purse higher onto her shoulder.

“Alright, I’m off to keep working from home on my week off,” Theta said. She pressed a quick parting kiss to Morena’s lips. “Bye, love you. Oito, send me a picture of Mo’s dress! See you at home!”

“I will do no such thing,” Oito said, shaking her head. She met Kurapika’s eye. “I promise.”

Kurapika laughed. “I know you won’t. Well, Miss Morena,” he said, turning to the bride-to-be, “Shall we get the final fitting started?”

~

The unknown phone number gracing Kurapika’s phone screen should have been his first red flag.

Except he was used to people cold-calling him. Someone calling him in the late afternoon was not, to normal people, a sign of an approaching disaster. Before this Netflix position, he fielded calls all the time from folks who tried to work around Melody and reach him directly, as if that would somehow earn them favor instead of disdain. And sometimes he simply gave favored clients (agents, actors and actresses, favorite journalists) and delivery drivers his personal cell number. And even if that wasn’t who was on the other end of the line, usually the worst callers were simply spambots. Once, someone thought the number was the sales department of a landscaping company, which was only minorly inconvenient and honestly just a bit funny.

Only, that was not who replied when he answered with his usual, “Kurapika speaking.”

_“Ah, excellent. The designer Kurapika?”_

The voice was imperious and feminine. Lifting a brow, Kurapika set down his sewing needle and lifted his phone to his ear. He had a feeling this wasn’t a conversation for speaker phone. “This is he. To whom am I speaking, and how did you come by this number?”

A soft scoff. _“Your customer service leaves something to be desired! This is Unma Ruo.” ___

Kurapika frowned, the name vaguely familiar but difficult to place. Then he remembered who this was, and he almost groaned aloud.

“Miss Ruo,” Kurapika said in lieu of _fuck my life._ “This number is not listed publicly. May I enquire how you received it?”

 _“I know a great many people, Mr. Kurapika,”_ Unma replied. _“In any case, I am glad I was at last able to track down your number! There are a great deal of changes that must be made to the wedding, and so little time. First, the caterer seems to have completely misunderstood the menu, as the canapes and tostadas we discussed appear to be missing from the appetizers, and they seem to insist on vegan options for the dinner portion. And the seating arrangement! I cannot be seated at table eight! I have a reputation to maintain as matriarch of the Ruo family, and to be anywhere farther from the brides than table two is a travesty. Furthermore, am I to understand one of the brides plans to wear a suit? To a wedding? Such a thing cannot be allowed to stand. And finally, the guest list is a travesty! We are at least a hundred people short, missing all sorts of important business partners and investors -”_

“Miss Ruo, I apologize, but I must stop you there,” Kurapika interrupted, not feeling very sorry at all. “I fear there has been a terrible misunderstanding.”

 _“I’ll say!”_ Unma cried. _“The prenup has fallen through, so God knows how much the family stands to lose come the divorce in a few years. And that - handyman, whatever he is, of theirs has created some glass monstrosity he plans to hang from the ceiling like a street artist hooligan! I can only picture the papers now -”_

 _“Miss Ruo,”_ Kurapika repeated. He realized his back was arrow-straight, his shoulders tight and jaw clenched in irritation, because how dare she, how _dare_ this woman, this family, insert itself into this wedding and Morena and Theta’s lives, demanding they all cater to her whims when they had _nothing_ to do with this.

He pictured Morena’s bright eyes and glowing smile dimming more and more with every phone call. Theta clutching her purse in helpless anger and _hurt_ as a family that could not be bothered to know her assumed only the worst. The Zoldycks, finally out from under the thumb of their overbearing parents and forced to deal with yet another family with more money and entitlement than heart. Leorio, his confidence rattled and natural charisma stifled as he found himself feeling small, stupid, unwelcome.

“There has been a grave miscommunication regarding the wedding team’s duties,” Kurapika said clearly. “As the wedding team, our job is to create the wedding as directed and desired by the couple, regardless of any outside influences. If the couple wants vegan options, or meaningful, hand-crafted art that they helped create, or if one of the brides plans to wear a suit, then they will get what they want.”

Unma huffed irritably. _“Which is all well and good for a backyard wedding for the masses! But this wedding is different; nay, unique. The Ruo family has experienced unparalleled hardship and negative media coverage for years. This is a chance for the family to set the record straight, to show that we have all moved past this, and to have that girl refuse to take advantage of the opportunity? Utter foolishness! I cannot abide by it. I will see to the well-being of the family if the child will not.”_

“A wedding is a wedding,” Kurapika replied simply. His tone was remarkably even for the amount of anger currently twisting his stomach into knots. “Regardless of the class status of the couple. I will say again, our focus is the happiness of the couple, and not the paltry concerns of the extended family. This is the only time I will say this: please do not call my team again, and do not contact me, either. Have a pleasant evening, Miss Ruo, and I will see you at the wedding. Good day.”

He ended the call. He rather wished in that moment for an old-fashioned flip phone or even a landline, because pressing his thumb against the “end call” logo was far less satisfying than slamming something down _hard_ like he wanted to. It would have issued a better air of finality and demonstrated his irritation. But alas, he only had the latest-model cell phone and a ridiculous first-world problem.

With an annoyed huff, Kurapika stood up to pace the length of his apartment. He was too angry to put the finishing touches on the bridal veil right now; he would likely snap the fine lace thread, and if he did _that,_ he was going to burn down his apartment (after saving the wedding party’s outfits, of course - he was upset, not an anarchist).

His phone was out in his hand and he was making the call before he had even realized it. A few moments later, the familiar voice was answering, _“Kurapika?”_

He blinked, his irritation briefly dispelling as he heard Alluka’s voice when he expected to hear Kalluto’s. Just to be sure, he glanced at the caller ID; sure enough, it was Kalluto’s number on his screen.

“Alluka?” He asked.

 _“Yeah!”_ She said. _“Kalluto’s tending bar right now, and normally I wouldn’t answer their phone, but I wanted to answer in case this was something important! What’s up?”_

“I was calling to…” What _was_ he doing, really? He was not sure. He only knew he was feeling horrendously angry and protective. Which was silly; he was no longer a child on the playground shouting at bullies for picking on his brother. He was an adult, a manager, checking in on his employees (friends?) after realizing that a client had been making their lives miserable without his knowledge for weeks.

When he put it that way, Kurapika realized, it was all the same thing, wasn’t it?

“I just got off of the phone with Unma Ruo,” Kurapika told Alluka. “And I wanted to reach out to you all.”

 _“Oh.”_ Alluka was quiet for a few moments. There was the sound of something rustling in the background, and she turned to someone and murmured, _“I’m taking ten.”_ Then there more rustling on the line as Alluka walked through what sounded like the madness of her kitchen before a door opened and then shut. All of a sudden, the noise tapered off.

 _“Sorry about that,”_ Alluka said. _“Um, what did you want to talk about?”_

“I just - are you in a pantry?” Kurapika asked.

 _“The walk-in cooler,”_ Alluka said.

“The _cooler?”_ Kurapika repeated. “But that’s _cold!”_

Alluka laughed at that, high and surprised. Kurapika thought of Killua telling him what a _mom_ he was, and he thought that this time, perhaps the moniker was fair. _“I’ve been standing above a running gas range for the past two hours, Kurapika. This is actually kind of necessary.”_ She was silent for a few moments. _“Um. You said you talked to Unma Ruo?”_

“I did,” Kurapika confirmed. “Is it true she has been bothering you and your family about the wedding?”

 _“Yeah,”_ Alluka said. She was quiet for a few moments. _“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you. We didn’t want to bother you. You and Leorio are always so busy, and this is just, you know, the business. We’re from that world, you know. Unma is, um, a lot like our mother was. So we know how to handle her! And we’ve been just going along with what Morena and Theta wanted. We never thought she would call you directly, and I swear we didn’t give her your number! I’m so sorry, Kurapika!”_

Alluka sounded so apologetic, so _anxious._ Like her first assumption was that Kurapika was calling because he was _angry_ at them instead of simply concerned. His free hand hanging at his side curled into a fist. This _family._ He wanted to call up Unma again and give her more of a piece of his mind. But even more, he wanted to jump into his car, drive across the city, and give the Zoldyck siblings a hug.

Which just sounded preposterous. He wasn’t even much of a _hugger._ But for this family? Those kids? Kurapika wanted to bundle them up against him and tell them that they deserved _better._

“I’m not angry, Alluka,” Kurapika told her. He made his voice gentle.

 _“You’re not?”_ Alluka repeated hopefully.

Kurapika swallowed roughly. There was an ache behind his sternum, a shared hurt that he had not even realized they shared. The recognition of feeling like he always needed to be on guard, always expecting the next blow, the next letdown, the next cutting remark. And to be met with kindness when one was expecting something very different?

_(“This is beautiful, Kurapika. You really are talented.”_

_“...Thank you.”)_

“I’m not,” he repeated. “I wanted you to know that I have told Unma that she is to leave you and your family alone, and that you have been doing your jobs to the best of your stellar abilities. I am sorry that I had not realized before that she was bothering you.”

 _“Oh,”_ Alluka said, her voice wobbly. _“Um. Don’t be sorry! It’s not your fault we didn’t tell you! We didn’t want you to know. It’s the business, you know? We’re used to that from people. We didn’t want you to think we were just kids complaining, or that we couldn’t handle it on our own.”_

“I do know,” Kurapika agreed, all too aware of the cost of doing business. “But, be that as it may: when you are working in conjunction with this show, you will be treated with utmost respect. In the future, if someone is harassing your family, please tell me. I will put a stop to it.”

A long silence. Finally, Alluka said, _“Thanks, Kurapika. You’re… you’re really nice.”_

“Of course,” Kurapika said softly. “I care about you all.”

 _“I know you do.”_ Alluka sniffled, and Kurapika heard something that sounded like her teeth chattering. Kurapika found himself smiling. To his surprise, his anger was a distant memory; now, all he felt was a quiet ache for Alluka and her siblings and a soft fondness for them all.

“Have a good night, Alluka,” he told her. “Get warmed up. I will see you this weekend.”

_“Yep! Bye, Kurapika!”_

The call disconnected. Frankly, it was impressive they could talk at all with Alluka standing in the restaurant’s massive, well-insulated walk-in cooler. Next, Kurapika dialed Leorio’s number. He bit the inside of his cheek, arguing with himself - it made sense to call him and tell him what happened and ask how he was. But the protective flare that had sparked in his chest when Unma spoke about Leorio felt different compared to how he felt about the Zoldycks. Leorio was his partner in this job, not a contracted agent. He was in no way Kurapika’s professional responsibility.

The call went to Leorio’s voicemail. Which made sense, because it was technically still the workday, and Leorio was finishing the art piece for the reception. He was probably fine. He was self-assured and confident, and there was no way that a mean-spirited person like Unma could make him doubt himself.

Kurapika recalled the way Leorio looked on that ship deck, his shoulders curled and eyes cast downward.

The next thing he knew, his car keys were in his hand and he was riding the elevator down to the parking garage below his building.

(If you thought _Kurapika_ would _ever_ park his car on the _city street,_ you were _delusional.)_

He glanced at his watch, saw that it was past five o’clock. It was a bit early for dinner, but he had forgotten to eat lunch, and he had a feeling if Leorio was busy all day he might have, too. Kurapika was not a huge fan of deli sandwiches, but there was a particular local delicatessen that Leorio happened to love, and if he “just happened” to drive past the establishment “while he was out,” he assumed Leorio would not try and call him on his story. He hoped, at least.

The warehouse door was unlocked when Kurapika tried it. He stepped inside and was immediately hit with a wall of heat from the red-hot furnace going in the corner. There was loud music blasting from a pair of wireless speakers set up safely on the workshop table. Leorio was simply a shadowy outline, his tiny sunglasses perched on his nose as he stared into the furnace, poker in his hands.

“Hello?” Kurapika called out to announce his presence. Leorio blinked from his focused fugue, looking to the entrance. A surprised smile split over his face.

“Kurapika?” He said, like he was having a hard time believing it. “What’re you doing here?”

“I was out,” Kurapika said, holding up the take-out deli bag. “I just happened to pass by that deli you’re so fond of.”

“You ‘just happened’ to pass by Reggio’s?” Leorio asked, a brow lifted. He carefully set down his materials, acting in accordance with some safety regulations Kurapika could not begin to fathom, and started to walk towards Kurapika. Who, apparently, had decided to pick that exact moment to notice the sleeveless muscle tank that Leorio had on over a set of well-worn, comfortable jeans. “The Reggio’s Deli halfway across the city from you?”

“Yes,” Kurapika lied baldly. Was he sweating? If he was, it was because of the furnace. And the lie. _Not_ the sweat that slicked Leorio’s shirt to his chest and stomach or that shone on his arms and shoulders. Oh, this was a _mistake._

Leorio lifted his eyebrow, and it was clear that he did not fully believe him. But then he grinned, jerking his head to the workshop table. “C’mon, then. Let me wash up.”

Kurapika nodded, sitting on one of the stools and taking the food out of the bag. He slid Leorio’s sandwich across the table just as Leorio sat down, towling his hands dry and dabbing off the sweat on his face and neck.

“Is that cold?” Leorio asked, his eyes laser-focused on the water bottle in Kurapika’s hand.

“Of course,” Kurapika said. He tried not to preen over his good planning. Leorio had been working at a fire kiln all day. Yes, obviously he would want water. There was no reason to be proud of himself for exercising basic common sense.

“Oh, thank you _so_ much,” Leorio said appreciatively. He unscrewed the cap and chugged half of the water bottle. Kurapika swallowed thickly, his mouth dry. It was one thing to see a sweaty, well-worked Leorio in his videos; it was quite another to see him up close. It left Kurapika feeling a bit parched, himself.

“Sure,” Kurapika said, looking down at his sandwich and unwrapping it.

“Is this the meatball sub I always get?” Leorio asked, his eyes wide as he lifted up the sandwich that generously weighed about five pounds. His free hand was holding his half-empty water bottle to the side of his neck. “That you call a heart attack with cheese?”

“Maybe,” Kurapika said. He bit into his sandwich and swore softly when half the fillings fell out. Dammit, why were they always so overfilled?

But Leorio understood by now that Kurapika’s shortness and distance came from his allergies to emotions acting up occasionally, and not because he was a little asshole. Kurapika was not sure how much Leorio gleaned about those, exactly. Perhaps he simply thought Kurapika preferred to keep his work and personal lives separate, which was absolutely correct. Perhaps he had even picked up that Kurapika’s veneer of aloofness and professionalism were a coping mechanism to guard against his immense shyness. Perhaps he was even starting to figure out that he could work his way through Kurapika’s defenses as no one else quite could. If it was the last option, he had been good enough thus far in their professional relationship not to say anything about it.

Or maybe Leorio was just tired, stressed, and hungry, and he was more interested in tearing into the dinner Kurapika had brought him. It was not a very elegant display, but Kurapika still found himself smiling at their shared proximity, even as they were too hungry to even converse. There was no need to fill the space with words; they could simply exist together.

Perhaps Kurapika’s blood sugar was even lower than he had thought, if he was entertaining such thoughts. Nevermind that he was much more likely to be snappish when hungry instead of unnervingly sentimental.

“So,” Leorio started, wiping his fingers on his napkin after he demolished the first half of his sandwich in record time. “While I _do_ appreciate you showing up with food, I have the sneaking suspicion there is a secondary reason for you dropping by.”

He met Kurapika’s gaze across the table. Kurapika glanced away, sipping at his ginger ale.

“Unma called me,” Kurapika explained. “We exchanged words. It seems that she has been reaching out to all of the planning team, and I was the last to know.”

“All of us?” Leorio’s brow furrowed. “The Zoldycks, too?”

“Yes,” Kurapika sighed. He wondered if it made matters worse or better that Leorio had been equally unaware of the involvement of the Zoldycks. On the one hand, that meant that the others had not banded together to mutually agree to leave Kurapika out of the loop. On the other hand, that also meant they had all been dealing with this on their own.

Leorio shook his head, scowling. “Unbelievable. Telling them how to do their jobs?”

“Yes. As I stated, we had words about that.” Kurapika wiped his already-clean fingers on his napkin, balling the material into a wrinkled mess. “You all will not be contacted again.”

“Ooh, scary,” Leorio said. Though he was grinning, the expression did not meet his eyes. “I take it you went full ‘I am the manager’ on them?”

Kurapika chuckled, looking down into his hands. “Something like that.”

He was quiet for a few minutes, leaving the space open for Leorio to speak if he wanted to. Kurapika had figured out enough to guess that Unma had at least _called_ Leorio, though given her reaction to his art piece for the reception, he suspected she had actually just walked into the workshop to start critiquing. But Leorio said nothing, choosing to stay uncharacteristically quiet and thoughtful as he ate. Which was fine by Kurapika. He would not push Leorio into discussing this if he did not want to.

Finally, Leorio spoke: “I should be getting back to work.”

Kurapika blinked. What was this feeling in his stomach? Disappointment? Ridiculous. He had _just_ said he was not going to make Leorio open up to him if he didn’t want to. There was no reason to be disappointed when Leorio did exactly that. “Of course. My apologies for the intrusion.”

“No, I mean -” Leorio tripped over his words. “It’s fine, I just have a lot of work to do.” He gathered up the trash to toss out. “Thanks for dinner.”

“You’re welcome,” Kurapika replied. He stood up and pushed in his chair. His keys felt heavier and louder than usual clenched loosely in his fist. He lamely pointed in the direction of the door. “I should be getting home. I have… things.”

“Yeah.” Leorio nodded.

“Yes.” Kurapika nodded back.

He had half-turned before Leorio blurted, “Do you want to see the glass sculpture?”

Kurapika looked back over his shoulder. Leorio’s face was half-illuminated in profile from the still-lit furnace. The bit of his face that Kurapika could see looked tense, nervous. Two emotions Kurapika found utterly unacceptable on his friend’s face.

“I would love to,” Kurapika said, tucking his keys into his pocket. Leorio only nodded, showing Kurapika to a back section that he had not been able to see from his spot for dinner. He turned the corner to a small cut-off storage section that Kurapika assumed was once a storeroom. He could barely make out Leorio’s creation in the gloom.

“Let me get the lights,” Leorio said. “Careful with your eyes, I’m not sure how bright they’ll be.”

He flicked a switch, and the room was bathed in soft light. Kurapika blinked, his eyes adjusting to the sudden change. As the glass sculpture came into focus, he found his mouth _dropping open._

 _“Leorio,”_ Kurapika breathed. He walked closer to the glass sculpture, walking around its table to take it in from every angle. The sculpture was larger than he had anticipated, perhaps two feet across and just as tall, the metal frame welded into the shape of a lotus. The glass was attached to the metal bars, and all along the metal ran small lights, glowing and flickering like fireflies floating from glass shard to glass shard. With the shattered glass, the beautiful art had a tender, raw quality to it: a person’s deepest hurts ripped open for all to see, shattered into pieces and then patched together again into something new. Something that a less appreciative, discerning person could consider chaotic, but that someone who knew what to look for, who knew what this piece meant, would find beautiful.

It was a renewal from the remnants of a shattered life, and Kurapika was not surprised at all that Unma couldn’t value or respect the beauty there.

“So, uh,” Leorio started, rubbing his palms nervously over the thighs of his jeans. Kurapika realized he had been silent for several minutes. “What d’you think?”

Kurapika finished his slow circle of the sculpture, still mesmerized by the way the shards glittered every time he moved. When he finally stopped, he was a few feet away from the entirety of the sculpture, Leorio’s profile illuminated by the fairy lights.

“Leorio,” Kurapika started, and why, _why_ did his voice sound like that? They were talking about a glass chandelier for a client’s wedding reception, and still Kurapika was speaking with an open appreciation that he saved for… other affairs. “This is… _stunning._ You are a master of your craft.” He huffed out a quiet laugh apropos of nothing. “I’m... actually nearly speechless.”

“Really?” Leorio asked hopefully. “You think it’ll be okay to use at the wedding?”

“Yes,” Kurapika said firmly. Leorio was still looking at him skeptically. “Leorio, I know museum curators who would be _honored_ to show this level of artistry in their galleries. I’ve half a mind to call them right now.”

His companion snorted softly. “It’s metal and glass, Kurapika. It’s not like, you know. What the Zoldycks do with food. Or you with clothes.”

“Food is just ingredients,” Kurapika said. “Clothes are just fabric and thread. Everything is just a sum of its parts. It is the hands that make amazing things.” He nodded toward the sculpture. “And your hands have created something _magnificent.”_ Kurapika could not tell in the low lighting, but he wondered if Leorio was blushing. “So take the _damn_ compliment and know that you deserve it.” He drew himself to his full height. “A master takes pride in their craftsmanship. And you are a master in your own right.”

Kurapika had meant the last bit in jest to break the strange tension in the air between them. That seemed to backfire, though, as Leorio ducked his head and bit his lower lip to hide the smile spreading over his lips. And, _oh,_ speaking of beautiful things - little compared to the sight of Leorio standing in front of him, warm and smiling, finally, hands in his pockets and the lights from his creation shining on the dried sweat that made his skin gleam and catching on the green in his eyes.

“Thanks, Kurapika,” Leorio said. “That… means a lot coming from you. I kinda needed to hear that after today.”

“Of course.” Kurapika took a slow step back. Something in his sternum was tingling, like a magnet being pulled away from true north. “Goodnight, Leorio. I’ll see you soon.”

“Night, sunshine,” Leorio said. He pulled a hand from his pockets and sent a two-fingered salute.

Kurapika’s heart raced the entire drive home.

~

“Look on the bright side,” Kalluto said. They leaned back in their chair, painted nails clasped around their mug. “This wedding is over after today.”

“Twelve hours, but who’s counting?” Nanika asked, playing a game on her phone with Alluka. They were all inside Kurapika’s loft, finishing final preparations and generally preparing for the Heil-Ly wedding.

“Come now,” Kurapika, who certainly was not counting down the remaining eight hours, forty-three minutes until the four o’clock ceremony. “Let’s keep it at least _somewhat_ positive today.”

“I’m positive I can’t wait for this to be over,” Killua mumbled into his folded arms, where he was dozing on Kurapika’s kitchen island. Kurapika frowned at him, though the expression was admittedly more directed at the way Killua was wrinkling his shirt.

Leorio flicked Killua on the side of the head. “Wake up, kiddo. If I can’t sleep, nor can you.”

“Fuck off,” Killua grumbled. “Kurapika, Leorio hit me.”

“I barely tapped you!”

“He _barely_ tapped you,” Nanika and Kalluto agreed.

“Children,” Kurapika said patiently, adjusting Gon’s bowtie. With his back to the room, only Gon saw the laugh he was swallowing down. He sent Gon a wink. “Stop fighting.”

“‘Children,’” Leorio scoffed. “I’m two years older than you. Alluka, pass me the sugar?”

Alluka snickered and slid Leorio the dolphin ceramic. Kurapika saw Leorio send her a little wink of his own, like the massive dork he was. He spooned in far more sugar than a man of thirty-four ought to put in his coffee and sipped it. “How are we on today’s itinerary, sunshine?”

Kurapika’s observation that the four Zoldycks did not react at all to the nickname Leorio had bestowed upon him struck him as ominous. But Kurapika had approximately six thousand things to worry about before he wondered if Kalluto had gotten a bet going for if and when he and Leorio would get together (the answers were, in order, _yes_ and _never)._ With a sigh, he took his pocketbook from his pocket, announcing, “We are ahead of schedule. We will need to head to Miss Siberia’s shop at noon to pick up the flower arrangements and bouquets. We can be at the ship no later than one o’clock, allowing the Zoldycks plenty of time to prepare the food and beverages. Gel, Cluck, and Pyon will be arriving at one thirty, and -”

“Great, so I have more time for coffee,” Killua interrupted irritably. He slid his mug in his sisters’ direction. “Fill ‘er up.”

“I hate you all,” Kurapika sighed. He closed his eyes with a sigh, rubbing his fingers over his temples to ward off the impending tension migraine. When he opened his eyes, to his great surprise Leorio was standing there with a cup of coffee held out to him.

“You haven’t had any yet,” he said by way of explanation. “You get cranky.”

“I thought I got hangry,” Kurapika replied, accepting the cup and sipping on autopilot. It was a touch too sweet, but overall it was surprisingly close to the way he preferred it for Leorio’s first time preparing it.

“It’s both,” Leorio said. His voice had an odd echoing effect to it, and it took Kurapika a few extra seconds to realize that the Zoldyck siblings and Gon had added their two cents to the matter, too. Bunch of busybodies.

Kurapika scowled at them all, looking them over. Part of his reasoning for wanting everyone to come over to his loft for breakfast had been to run over the game plan one final time before they left for the yacht. But another reason was to give everyone a final once-over, a subtle check-in after these past few weeks. While he did not give a _damn_ about the approval of anyone associated with this wedding who was not Theta, Morena, or Oito, he also did not want to leave any room for criticism or harassment from the extended Ruo family.

Which was why he had been so careful to fix Gon’s tie. And why he had insisted on re-ironing Killua’s vest when he came in. And why he had argued about doing Alluka and Nanika’s hair, though that was also because his hair-styling skills were going rusty, and he didn’t want to lose his touch. (What? He used to attend fashion shows as a matter of course - he _knew_ how to style hair and apply makeup in a pinch, though he was by no means a skilled professional like Gel or Cluck).

The only two people he had not “mothered” over in some way were Kalluto and Leorio. Kalluto, because they were perfectly put-together in a set of white silk leggings and a purple suit with long coattails that made them look a bit like a circus ringmaster, but chic; and Leorio, because he actually cleaned up _very nicely,_ and Kurapika was afraid he might do something embarrassing like _tell him that_ if he looked at him for too long.

Which did not help when Leorio was standing squarely in front of him, less than a foot away so Kurapika could smell his cologne. His suit was neatly pressed, a classic blue thing that Kurapika had a feeling he had seen before, but he looked _really good_ and Kurapika took another sip of his coffee and peered down into his pocketbook.

“We should be going,” he announced. He gave himself one last once-over in the mirror: starched white shirt, royal blue vest, suit, and tie, silver cufflinks and collar chain, silver stud in his ear. He looked _good,_ if he dared think so: strong, masculine, in charge. Anyone who had a problem would know he was the one to go to with their complaints; not the Zoldycks, not Gon, not Leorio. _Him._

He flicked his gaze up, meeting Leorio’s gaze in the mirror. He had already been looking at Kurapika, and his stomach did a backflip. The man sent him a grin. “Let’s go then, sunshine.”

Kurapika straightened his lapels. “Let’s.”

He led the way out. They went down the elevator, separating in the parking lot as they went to their cars. Leorio rode with Kurapika, and Gon and the Zoldycks went in their own company van to make sure nothing happened to the wedding cake. Kurapika was pretty sure Killua would explode if anything happened to that beautiful, four-layer tower of vanilla cake, raspberry filling, and buttercream frosting adorned with orange, pink, and white roses made of frosting and sugar pearls. He was pretty sure he would have an aneurism himself if anything happened to it.

They picked up the flowers from Palm’s shop, though Palm would be arriving in the early afternoon with the centerpieces to finish putting the reception area together. Leorio carefully balanced the packages holding Theta’s corsage, Morena’s hairpiece, and the flowers for the wedding party on his lap.

“What do these mean, Kurapika?” Leorio asked, examining the exquisitely-arranged blooms.

“Um, I’ll try to remember,” Kurapika hummed, trying to balance between driving, looking, and thinking. “Chrysanthemums, for fidelity and devotion. Roses and wisteria, for love. I like the use of pink roses, for friendship and as a reference to the pride flag. Gardenia for joy.”

“The bouquet is made of the same flowers?” Leorio asked.

“Yes,” Kurapika said as he parked the car outside the yacht. A gold-framed chalkboard sat beside the gangplank, gorgeous pink calligraphy spelling out _Welcome to the Wedding of Morena Heil and Theta Ly; Please watch your step!_ The dates of the ceremony and reception were listed below.

“I did not know you could do calligraphy,” Kurapika noted as they walked up the gangplank.

“Oh, I can’t,” Leorio said cheerfully. “I’ll admit, that one was Altea giving me a hand. Everything else you see, though, that was mine, and I will shamelessly take credit for that.”

Kurapika laughed as he walked on the deck. The space was a bustle of movement and a riot of color as people rushed around putting the finishing touches on table placements and settings, decorations, and more. Alluka and Nanika had already made themselves at home in the kitchen area, and distantly Kurapika heard them ordering Killua around to help them as they got everything ready. Kalluto stood in the eye of the storm with their own clipboard, handling the food and drink set-up while Kurapika and Leorio addressed everything else. Gon was walking around with his camera on his shoulder, recording B-roll footage for filler Kurapika was positive they were not going to need. The reception area was full of orange, pink, and white accents. Above it all, Leorio’s lotus sculpture-slash-chandelier floated in the middle of the space. String lights crossing over the ceiling added to the effect, making the space look like it was home to hundreds of floating fireflies.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Leorio,” Kurapika noted, tilting his head back to take it all in. “How long did this take you?”

“Oh, just a couple hours,” Leorio said, shrugging off the praise. “Once you learn how to walk a ladder, everything goes a lot faster. Plus I didn’t need it as much as I was anticipating. The ceilings were lower than I anticipated.”

“I’m sorry,” Kurapika said, nonplussed, _“Walk a ladder?”_

“Oh, yeah,” Leorio said. “Y’know, just wiggle it so you lift the legs up, and then you can walk it around. Faster than needing to climb up and down all the time. It’s real easy.”

“It sounds dangerous,” Kurapika frowned. Leorio grinned down at him as they arrived outside of Morena’s room for final check-in.

“Aw, you don’t need to worry about me,” Leorio told him, knocking on the door.

“I’m more worried about scratches over the floorboards,” Kurapika muttered. Leorio snickered as the door opened.

“Oh, good, you’re here!” Morena cried. She looked a mix between anxious and thrilled, ushering them into her changing room. She was wearing a pink silk robe, not that anyone seemed particularly inclined to comment on her lack of dress. “Welcome! Do you want anything? Coffee? Water? Tea?”

“I had to cut her off,” Oito spoke up from the corner. Her begonia-colored dress (“It’s a pinkish-purple, Kurapika,” Leorio had groaned at him earlier that week when he got overly specific with his color names) was covered by a worn sweatshirt as she gently rocked a fussy Woble against her breast. She sent Leorio a nod. “We haven’t met. I’m Oito, the maid of honor.”

“Leorio, which I’m sure you knew,” Leorio greeted. He beamed down at the bundle of lilac blankets, palms clasped on either side of his face as he cooed at the baby. “And who is _this_ little delight?”

“This is Woble,” Oito introduced. She carefully adjusted Woble in her arms so Leorio could look at her. This was the first time Kurapika had actually gotten to see the baby, himself: Woble was a chubby-cheeked infant, with tufts of curly black hair, round brown eyes, and a button nose. She was, admittedly, adorable.

“Oh my _God,”_ Leorio breathed, softly but with feeling. “She is _beautiful._ Look at those cheeks! And that smile! Oh, you have the same smile!”

Oito laughed softly. “Would you like to hold her?”

 _“Would_ I?” Leorio asked. “I’d love to, if you don’t mind. My sister is expecting her first next year, and I’m trying to figure out the whole uncle thing.”

“By all means,” Oito said, holding out the baby. “I could use a break and some coffee. _Someone,”_ she added with a pointed look in Morena’s direction, “drank all of the first pot of coffee.”

“I’m excited!” Morena protested. “I’m getting _married_ today! I want energy! I want _pep!_ Also, it was this or booze to put up with my family, and coffee sounded much more socially acceptable at ten o'clock this morning.”

“Understandable,” Kurapika said, choosing to look at Morena instead of Leorio as he lifted Woble into his arms. His heart was pounding out a drum line in his chest, which was _ridiculous._ Kurapika did not even particularly _like_ children. But something about watching Leorio smiling down at the infant in his arms twisted Kurapika’s guts into knots. Utterly ridiculous. Utterly _unacceptable._ He was at _work._ “How are you feeling? We wanted to check in before we returned to the final preparations.”

“Oh, I’m not leaving,” Leorio told Kurapika. He lifted Woble into the air, and she let out a happy screech. “I have important business that can’t be rescheduled.”

“Fine. I’ll put together the rest of this wedding by myself.”

“Go ahead and try. You can’t reach anything.”

 _“Excuse you,”_ Kurapika cried, scandalized.

Morena laughed. “You two are so great together.” Kurapika opened his mouth to protest, because he had a feeling she was not only referring to their professional partnership, but she went on, “I’m excited! I can’t wait to walk down the aisle. You said you put some last-minute touches on the dress, right?”

“I did,” Kurapika said, nodding. Leorio gave him an odd look out of the corner of his eye.

“I didn’t hear about this.”

“Preparations have been busy,” Kurapika said simply. “Inspiration struck. In any case,” he said, checking his watch and standing up, “We ought to check in with Theta as well. The hair and makeup team should also be arriving soon, and I will direct them your way. Please let me know if you need anything.”

“Of course!” Morena cried. She reached out a hand to both Kurapika and Leorio. “I know these past few weeks have been long and stressful. But thank you for sticking it out and making something beautiful out of it anyway.”

She shook their hands. Kurapika bit back a smile, ducking his head. “Thank you for trusting us, Morena. It has been a pleasure.”

“And we’re not all done yet,” Leorio reminded her. He led the way out the door, holding it open for Kurapika after him. “See you at the ceremony!”

He shut the door behind them and followed Kurapika down the hall. The yacht was so large that they barely felt the waves below them as they walked throughout the public areas of the ship, seeking the second suite where Theta was preparing for the ceremony. Kurapika might have thought they were on land had the occasional life preserver not broken the facade of what otherwise looked like a five-star hotel.

Kurapika knocked on the door to Theta’s room, and the door whipped open immediately.

“Oh, thank God you’re here,” the man said. Kurapika could barely remember his name, and only knew him as one of Theta’s college friends in her wedding party. What was it, again? Salkov?

“Is something wrong, Bill?” Leorio asked. Which was absolutely not the name Kurapika had been anticipating, but he was a bit at the end of his rope. The man nodded and pointed in the direction of the bedroom.

“Yeah, I think so,” he said. “A few minutes ago, this old lady came in and demanded to speak to Theta. Wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Old lady?” Kurapika repeated, frowning. His stomach dropped as he realized the only person it could be, and he swore under his breath. He exchanged a look with Leorio, who had simply decided to swear aloud as he made the connection at the same time he did. Without further ado, Kurapika approached the door to the bedroom and knocked.

“Theta?” He called.

A few moments later, the door swung open. Theta was already dressed in her wedding suit, her lace-trimmed top tucked into her pants. Her hair was up in a ponytail as she awaited her turn with the makeup team, and over her shoulder, Kurapika could see the jacket of her wedding suit hanging on the closet door.

“Close the door!” A familiar voice ordered Theta. Kurapika exchanged a look with the bride, and she stepped aside to allow entry into the room. Kurapika looked around the room and saw a woman standing at the foot of the bed. She wore a silvery dress that fell to her calves, and her neck and ears dripped with diamonds. Her gray-blond hair was coiffed up and out of her face, her eyes the color of unsheathed steel. The only spot of color on her came from the massive garnet she wore on her right ring finger.

“Miss Ruo, I presume?” Kurapika greeted her, nodding perfunctorily.

“Hmph,” Unma Ruo greeted. She ignored Kurapika and Leorio completely and returned her attention back to Theta. “You think an audience will stop me? I do not care. I have explained time and again why this _union_ cannot be allowed to go through. If I cannot appeal to your heartstrings, I shall lower myself to your more base instincts.”

Kurapika was suddenly so dearly, _desperately_ grateful that they did not have Gon and his camera in here; he knew that whatever was coming was going to be very, very ugly. He heard Leorio’s sharp intake of breath behind him as Unma’s insult clearly struck a chord in him as much as it did in Theta. She had gone stiff and pale, her lips pursed into a thin line. How Unma missed the way Theta’s hands were fisted in rage was a mystery to Kurapika; he half-suspected they were about to _actually_ see Theta start throwing hands with a woman twice her age.

Unma reached into her purse to remove a crisp envelope. She thrust it in Theta’s direction, and she accepted it like a marionette on a string, her arms and hands moving as if piloted by someone else. It seemed gruesome curiosity overcame her anger, because she calmed down enough to carefully open the envelope and remove a slip of paper.

Her eyes almost fell out of her head as she read. When she looked up, her face was as white as the lips she had pressed together. _“Really?”_

Her voice was thick with rage. Kurapika stepped back into the corner at the same time Leorio did, their arms and shoulders knocking. Unma nodded sharply.

“Yes. If you will not see reason, I will cut to the chase. Ten million dollars to end this charade now, before it’s too late.” Unma’s face softened. “Please. For the family. For Morena.”

“Oh, shit,” Leorio muttered under his breath as Theta’s head snapped up.

 _“Don’t,”_ she hissed. She pointed a shaking finger at Unma. “Don’t you _dare_ bring her into this. You - how _dare_ you.”

Theta drew herself up to her full height. It was not a particularly impressive change, but there was something in her bearing as she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders that at last made Unma’s impeccable, almost delusional confidence falter. There was poise and power in the way Theta held herself, _demanding_ that she be respected, and Kurapika saw in that moment exactly the woman Morena had fallen head over feet for in the first meeting. The woman who knew herself and her worth and refused to make herself smaller for anyone. Theta spoke, and her tone was calm, deadly, final.

“You have used this woman as your pawn her entire adult life. You manipulated her and her career for your own selfish gain. You were ready to let her take the fall for your _horrible_ family when your corrupt, _evil_ little kingdom finally came crashing down. You weren’t there for her while her life was torn to shreds in the papers. You didn’t speak up for her in court when she was lambasted by the prosecution. You weren’t there for her when the dust cleared. You didn’t pick her up off the floor and help her find her way again. Morena had to do that all alone. She left you all behind, but _you_ abandoned her first.

“And now you’ve been trying to salvage your _family name_ by using her _fucking wedding_ as a PR stunt? How stupid do you think the world is? That Morena is? That _I_ am?”

Morena was shaking in earnest now. She pointed to the wall in the general direction of the ceremony area. “I am marrying the love of my life in less than two hours, and there is no amount of money in the _world_ that will make me walk away from her. I _love_ her. I love Morena more than anything. I love how she organizes everything in her life down to the silverware in the kitchen, but she can’t cook for shit. I love how she bites her pens when she’s thinking about some stupid tort law. I love how she never orders her own fries or dessert, because she wants to be healthy, but she always eats half of mine, even if it drives me _crazy._ I love how ninety percent of our closet and bathroom counter is taken over by her clothes and her makeup. I love how she refuses to take shit from lawyers who try to talk over her in meetings. I love how she smiles at the kids on the school bus when they roll by, and I love how she’s secretly the biggest benefactor of four different hospitals and five nonprofits in the city, because she has more money than she knows what to do with and she wants to _help people._ I love that her favorite mug at home is the one with the pink cat ears. I love that she went through _hell_ and remained the strongest, kindest, most _loving_ person I have _ever_ met, and _nothing_ is going to stop me from walking down the aisle today.

“So you can take _this,”_ Theta snarled, lifting the check and dangling it in the air. There was a loud ripping sound as she tore it in half, then into fourths. Once she reached eighths, Theta dropped the crushed bits of paper to the ground. “And _shove it.”_

Unma was apoplectic with anger. Finally, she hissed, “You will _never_ be recognized by the Ruo family! See if the Kakin Corporation continues to do business with you after _this.”_

She swept out of the room. Kurapika exchanged wide-eyed stares with Leorio, who looked equally as shell-shocked after that bomb went off. Salkov and Bill each poked their heads through the door.

“You good, Theta?” Salkov asked. His tone implied he already knew the answer.

Theta breathed in, held it. Released. Then she grinned. “I’m _great.”_ She turned to Leorio and Kurapika. “Stay for a drink?”

“We’re,” Kurapika started to say that they were still on the clock, and working, and they really probably shouldn’t, and they should get going, because he was not totally positive Unma wasn’t about to go start a _literal fire_ or try and sink the yacht.

But before he could get any farther, Leorio said, “Yeah, we can have a drink.”

Kurapika glanced up at Leorio. He was already looking down at him, eyes wide and tired. Hard with anger, but soft in… something else.

“Yes,” Kurapika found himself saying. “Yes, we can stay for a drink.”

~

After the dramatic showdown in Theta’s room, the wedding went… surprisingly smoothly.

Unma was nowhere to be found, which all parties seemed to agree was for the best. The Ruo siblings were walking around making themselves annoying, but it seemed that Theta and Morena’s friends from work (and some generous pours from Kalluto at the pre-ceremony open bar) had devised a system to keep the powder keg from going off.

The wedding was a beautiful affair from Kurapika’s vantage point in the back, where he leaned against the deck railing beside Leorio. He was close enough to him to hear Leorio’s soft gasp when he saw the final touches Kurapika had put on the wedding outfits. The lace overlay of Morena’s mermaid-cut dress featured a design of lotuses and ivy. Her hair was tied up into an elegant twist, Palm’s flowers braided into her hair. Her veil trailed behind her, also embroidered with lotuses, the blooms illuminated with shimmering pink thread and matching crystals. Meanwhile, Theta’s lapels and suit had also been embroidered with a matching lotus.

“How late did you stay up getting that done?” Leorio asked Kurapika, leaning down to murmur it into his ear. Kurapika bit back a smirk.

“Oh, a couple hours.”

Leorio snorted. “Coy.”

A cheer went up as the brides kissed, Theta dipping Morena in a passionate, fairy-tale swoop that made the crystals in her veil flash in the sun. They parted several moments later, rushing back down the aisle hand-in-hand, wife and wife.

“Just the reception now,” Leorio said carefully. “Were you planning to stay?”

Kurapika sighed. “I ought to. Is it terrible if I want to leave as soon as possible?”

“I don’t think so. _I_ certainly want to,” Leorio said. He nudged at the spotless deck with the toe of his shoe. “I know a spot where I like to go after a stressful day. And we’ve had a lot of those lately. The yacht’s about to leave. D’you want to get out of here and get absolutely _smashed?”_

Kurapika spluttered out a surprised laugh over his phrasing. He ought to have said no, been a professional and kept an eye on things here. He should have reminded Leorio that he was thirty-two, and his days of getting “smashed” were behind him. But there was also a weariness tugging at him that made him liable to jump overboard and swim to shore if he was still on this damn yacht when it left the dock. And as he glanced around, he saw Kalluto was already in their element, ensuring that the drinks were poured and the appetizers were out and everything was in place. Gon was capturing the festivities from every angle, camera on his shoulder and Killua at his side. Killua popped a mini taco into his mouth and then fed Gon the next one as casually as if they did this every day.

They could get through one wedding reception without him, Kurapika was sure. And the happy couple was too busy celebrating together to even care what became of their wedding planners.

And if he was honest, getting smashed sounded _awesome_ in that moment.

“Yeah,” Kurapika said with a nod. Without further ado, he led the way off the yacht.

“Wow, really?” Leorio asked. He stumbled a bit on the swaying deck as he chased after Kurapika.

“I did say yes,” Kurapika told him. He glanced back over his shoulder with a grin. He unlocked his mini coop’s door. “So, where are we going?”

“My best friend owns a bar not far from here,” Leorio said, settling himself into his too-small seat and buckling himself in. “It’s a bit of a dive, but, well. This was your world, Kurapika.” He met Kurapika’s gaze, hazel to gray. “Let me show you mine?”

And how on _earth_ was Kurapika supposed to say no to that? Why would he even want to?

He nodded. “That seems… more than fair.”

Leorio grinned at him. The setting sun caught on the green in his eyes. And the brown, turning the dark flecks to a honey-gold color. “Alright, then. Take a left out here.”

And _fuck,_ it took a second for Kurapika to even remember how to _breathe,_ let alone _drive._ Or follow directions.

Fortunately, the bar Leorio directed him to was a ten minute drive from the yacht. Fancy boats and bay-view mansions changed to rows of townhouses, duplexes, apartment buildings, and warehouses. The air smelled like sea salt, fish, and fuel. Finally, Leorio stopped him in front of a brick storefront with neon signs in the window.

 _“‘Harry’s?’”_ Kurapika read the sign above the door.

“Hey, don’t judge,” Leorio said. He exited the car, one elbow resting on the top of Kurapika’s car (which, _rude,_ it was _rude_ to be that tall) and pointing at him. _“Harry’s_ has been a dockside staple for over eighty years.”

“I’m not judging,” Kurapika said, holding up his hands. “But I thought your best friend’s name was Pietro?”

“Oh.” Leorio blinked, looking surprised that Kurapika had remembered that. “That makes more sense. Harry was the original owner decades ago. He passed the bar on to his son, but then he never had kids of his own, so he gave it to Pietro when he retired. Pietro worked his way up and took over the business. We both had our first job here.”

“Waiter?” Kurapika asked, joining Leorio on the sidewalk. Leorio snorted as he led the way to the door.

“Calling anyone who works here a ‘waiter’ is pushing it. Nah, I was a dishwasher. And I fixed up any electrical or water issues, of which there were a lot, because this building is old as shit and Harry and Luke were cheap old bastards when it came to fixing things.” With that stellar introduction, he held open the door for Kurapika.

Kurapika followed him. His eyes took a few moments to adjust to the comparative dimness of the bar after the sunny afternoon outside. The bar was not very crowded for this time of day, seeing that it was barely five o’clock. Only a few older regulars were present, chatting quietly at the bar or watching baseball highlights on one of the TVs above the bar. A grizzled old trio was playing pool and darts in the back corner. At the sound of the door opening, every head turned to them. Kurapika swallowed tightly at the sudden attention, his steps stuttering, but then every face broke into a grin when Leorio entered behind him.

“Leo!” One of the men at the bar greeted. Leorio stepped around Kurapika to approach him, clasping him a big hug. Then billiards players came over, as well, teasing Leorio for his fancy suit. One of the men at the end of the bar asked if “his blond short stack” had finally made an honest man of him, making Leorio laugh loudly and Kurapika blush _scarlet,_ and then there was another shout across the room -

“Leo!”

Leorio whirled around. A man his age was approaching him, a bit shorter than Leorio but just as wiry; they could have been brothers. He had dark skin and wore his hair in a loose ponytail, his handsome jawline and unshaven in a well-tended scruff. He wore a black apron over dark jeans and, as Kurapika watched, tossed a checkered towel over his shoulder. A silver wedding ring flashed in the lights.

“Pete!” Leorio clasped his best friend in a tight hug, the two slapping each other’s backs as if they were trying to see who could handle the hits better.

“Leo, where you been, you beautiful bastard? What’s this about someone making an honest man of you? Lita hasn’t said a thing!”

Leorio coughed awkwardly. To Kurapika’s surprise, a flush was creeping up the back of his neck. “That is - I mean - it’s not like that. I was in the area with my _coworker,_ and I thought I’d bring him by.” He turned and sent Kurapika a grin. “C’mon, K’pika, they won’t bite.”

“Only if you want,” one of the older gentlemen at the bar chortled.

Kurapika made himself smile and tried to relax his shoulders from their current position around his ears. “We can negotiate after I’ve had a drink.”

Pietro laughed aloud and slapped Leorio’s back again. “Oh, Leo, I like him already.” He held out a hand. “Pietro, though I’m sure Leo has said only good things about me. Friends call me Pete, so everyone calls me that after about an hour here. Kurapika, right? Leo has told me all about you.”

Kurapika blinked. “He has?”

“I have _not,”_ Leorio groaned. He rubbed a hand over his face. “He’s just trying to embarrass me.”

“Yeah, I am,” Pietro said good-naturedly. He jerked his head in the direction of a booth. “Here, c’mon, sit down. Leo’s been telling me all about this wedding you’re setting up, and it sounds like a goddamn nightmare. Just have a seat in this here sunshine, and I’ll get you some drinks!”

 _“Pete,”_ Leorio hissed.

“On the house!” Pietro called over his shoulder as he went to the bar.

Pietro seemed as dedicated to embarrassing Leorio as Pairo and Altair were to humiliating Kurapika. The thought made him laugh softly to himself as he settled into the booth, making himself comfortable against soft, aged velvet. It was funny as long as he didn’t think too much about it. And tonight, he didn’t want to think much at all.

“Ignore him,” Leorio muttered to Kurapika. He was still standing. Kurapika opened his mouth to tell him to calm down and sit, but then Leorio decided that now was the time to tug off his blazer and loosen his tie in a few short yanks. Then he unfastened his shirt cuffs and started ruining the professionally starched dress shirt by rolling the sleeves to his elbows. When he sat down a few moments later, he looked like _himself_ again, in a way Kurapika hadn’t realized he missed until that moment. He certainly liked to look at Leorio when he was dressed to the nines, but he _really_ liked to look at Leorio when he was in his element, casual and comfortable and confident.

Maybe Kurapika just really, really, _really_ liked to look at Leorio, period. He realized his mouth was still open, and he snapped it shut as Pietro arrived with their drinks.

“Here you are,” Pietro said, settling down two pint glasses of something pale and foaming. “Two pale ales, on the house. I’ve only got a few minutes before the regulars come in, so Kurapika, ask me anything you want to know about Leorio while you’ve got the chance.”

“Hey!” Leorio cried. “Kurapika, he’s kidding, don’t -”

“How many times has he fallen off a roof?” Kurapika asked immediately. “This is, as you can imagine, essential information.”

“Naturally,” Pietro nodded sagely. “I think… four? No, five. Three when he was roofing with his pops, once when we were trying to break into the old abandoned warehouse on the pier on a dare, once when he was sneaking out to see a girl when he was fifteen. That’s the time he broke his arm, too, if I remember right.”

“Incredible,” Kurapika noted.

“Okay, _first_ of all,” Leorio interrupted loudly, holding up a finger. It seemed if he was going to be humiliated by his lifelong friend, he at least wanted to set the record straight. “I only fell off _one_ roof when I was working with pops, so anything Lita has told you has been a dirty lie. Second, you _also_ fell off the roof when we were breaking into Warehouse Thirteen. Third, I was actually going to see a _boy.”_

“Not Elenora?” Pietro asked, brows rocketing to his hairline. “I _know_ you were putting the moves on her.”

Leorio shook his head. “Her brother.”

Pietro threw back his head and laughed. “You little player.”

Leorio shook his head. “Just a dumb kid working himself out. Now, if you’re done embarrassing me -”

“I’m not,” Pietro insisted at the same time Kurapika stated, “He’s not.”

Leorio buried his face in his hands, groaning. “You two are the _worst.”_

“I think we’re becoming friends, actually,” Pietro said, meeting Kurapika’s eye with a wink.

“I agree,” Kurapika stated, and to his surprise he meant it completely. Not that he had anticipated _lying,_ but he had not expected to walk so completely from one world and into another in the span of a ten-minute drive. One bright, elegant, beautiful, cutting; the other dimmer, warmer, welcoming.

“No!” Leorio shouted, pointing at them both. “You are _not_ friends!”

“I do not believe that is your call, Leorio,” Kurapika hummed. He looked up at Pietro in time to watch Leorio’s oldest, dearest friend trying to school his expression of surprise back into something more neutral and teasing.

“Hm, what else?” Pietro hummed. “Oh! He went through a phase in his late teens and early twenties where he wore these stupid little teashade glasses, like, _everywhere._ Even inside.”

“The little round ones?” Kurapika asked. “He still wears them!”

“You traitor!” Leorio wailed; Pietro cackled like a Halloween witch.

“The bastard told me he threw them away!” Pietro cried. “But in all seriousness. What’s Leo like to work with? We always told him he could go far with his designs, but he never wanted to push beyond the YouTube channel.”

Leorio ducked his head again, his fingers running over the frigid condensation on his glass. A nervous tic, Kurapika finally recognized. He turned back to Pietro, saying honestly, “He is brilliant. I could not ask for a better show partner, and I would not if someone asked me to.” He smirked at Leorio, making his next sentence light and joking and not as patently raw as his previous statement. “Even if he has terrible taste in coffee and no sense for color palettes.”

“Hey!” Leorio cried, scandalized. Pietro interrupted them by laughing again.

“I ought to get back to work, but it was great to finally meet you, Kurapika,” he said. He clapped Leorio on the back, hard enough to make the man let out a soft _oof._ “Leo, don’t be a stranger. You two let me know if you need anything! Don’t let those drinks run dry!”

He parted with a wink, though Kurapika saw him mouth _Leorio_ to himself with an expression of knowing wonder. Bemused, he shook his head as he made his way back behind the bar.

“Ugh, asshole,” Leorio grumbled. He sipped his beer. “Sorry about him.”

“No need to apologize,” Kurapika assured him. “I meant it when I said I liked him. Besides - he is your oldest friend. He can’t be too bad. Though I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”

Leorio snickered. “Don’t let him hear you saying that.”

Kurapika shook his head and finally made himself sip his beer. It was… _fine,_ he told himself. Citrusy, if a bit bitter. Leorio started laughing at him.

“It’s okay if you don’t like beer, K’pika. It’s not for everyone.”

“I’m fine,” Kurapika insisted, and he took another long drink as if to prove his point. Oh, bad idea. It went sour when he did that. But also, he could not taste it as much when he did it, as if it was killing his taste buds. He wasn’t sure if that was worse or better. “I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

Kurapika peered around the bar. It was starting to fill up now, burly docks workers coming in and taking up their spots along the bar. “I had not realized they all called you Leo. Have I been wrong to use your full name? Would you prefer I stop?”

“Huh? Oh,” Leorio said. He scratched at the back of his neck. “No, it’s fine. I mean, it’s still my name. I’ll still answer to it. Plus I, you know…” He mumbled something, but it was muffled in the rim of his glass as he sipped his beer.

“Can you repeat that?” Kurapika asked.

“I said,” Leorio said, not quite meeting Kurapika’s gaze. “I don’t mind it. The way you say it. With the Kurta accent. So I didn’t bring it up.”

He buried his nose into his glass, and Kurapika realized it was because he was _embarrassed,_ and he was trying so hard not to let Kurapika see it. And Kurapika could only gape unattractively at him, feeling a flush creep up his neck as he realized that Leorio _liked the way he said his name,_ how his tongue caught over the _L_ and rolled on the _R,_ and there was something warm and insistent niggling behind his breastbone _demanding_ to be listened to, and Kurapika could _not_ handle that right now, so instead, utter fool that he was, he asked, apropos of nothing, “Do you want to do shots?”

Leorio raised both his brows. He considered it for a moment. Then: “Sure.”

As the night wore on, Kurapika realized several things: that he could no longer take tequila shots as smoothly as he once could (look: the fashion world liked to _party,_ and once upon a time Kurapika had thought he needed to party, too, in order to fit in, and that required picking up a certain skill set), but Leorio was even _worse;_ that he found beer much more palatable with three limes thrown into it and after three shots; that he had _no idea_ how baseball worked, judging by the way everyone shouted at the television as the game wore on, but he learned quickly with Leorio’s warm shoulder pressed against his, his breath brushing his ear as he explained the rules; that boneless wings were actually better than bone-in wings, and that led to a prolonged debate with Leorio as they bickered over their own separate plates.

The world had gone pleasantly warm and hazy as the night wore on. The bar filled up around them, and Kurapika and Leorio could barely go ten minutes without someone coming up to greet Leorio with the joy and affection of an old friend. Leorio knew all their names, as well as their families and their stories, and he asked after their well-being with a genuine warmth that left Kurapika sitting silently, chin resting on his fist, stars in his eyes as he watched Leorio at _home._

Maybe Pairo and Altair had a point, all those weeks ago. What exactly that point was, Kurapika would not name. But perhaps they were on to… something.

Eventually, their chatter at last turned back to work. They expressed their mutual relief at this current wedding being over with and an eagerness for the next one. They would need to reach out to Pokkle and Ponzu on Monday to get started. Their wedding date was set for mid-August, which would give their team just over three weeks to pull everything together. Kurapika had taken out his pocketbook to start taking notes when Leorio caught his wrist.

“C’mon, sunshine, this is supposed to be our night off,” he whined. “Besides, I've tried to build while intoxicated. It didn’t go well.”

“I am well aware,” Kurapika shot back. Which was clearly the wrong thing to say, because he tossed back his head with a loud laugh.

“I _knew_ you saw more of my videos than you admitted!” He shouted. “Which was your favorite? Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

“You are acting like a child,” Kurapika told him. His mind conjured the memory of Leorio in a muscle tank, his arms and shoulders shining with sweat, the muscles in his back shifting as he worked. He shoved the memory away and told himself that he was not going to make a _thing_ out of this.

“A little,” Leorio agreed easily. He rested his face on his hand. Then he pulled it away and slapped at his own cheek a few times. “Oh, shit. I’m drunk.”

“I know,” Kurapika said gently. He slid Leorio’s glass of water towards him. “So am I.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Leorio said. He sipped his water. “You were ready to work!”

Kurapika scoffed. “My notes consisted of ‘flowers’ and a squiggle that might, generously, be considered a dress. It more accurately resembled a penguin.”

“That’d be adorable,” Leorio mused. “Penguins in bow ties walking down the aisle. The best ring bearers ever.” He laughed at the idea. “But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you still have work on the mind, even now.”

“Oh?” Kurapika challenged. He braced himself for the teases of his workaholism, his utter lack of a personal or social life. He was used to hearing that from Pairo and Altair, from his parents, even from Melody. It would not hurt to hear the same thing from Leorio, he promised himself.

“You’re a romantic,” Leorio stated with all the confidence of a prophet, and Kurapika choked on his sip of lukewarm beer. Or was it water? They tasted the same at this point. He looked at the glass in his hand, narrowing his gaze. Pale amber-gold liquid, four limes floating at the surface. Huh. So this was the beer. Oh, shit. Maybe Kurapika was drunk, too.

“I am _not,”_ Kurapika argued, as horrified as if someone had accused him of kicking puppies. “Take that back.”

“Shan’t,” Leorio crowed. He tilted his head, taking in Kurapika’s aghast, flustered expression. _“Are_ you a romantic? I mean, I assume you must be, if you’re working on this show?”

Kurapika shook his head. “Not at all. I consider romance…” Terrifying? Embarrassing? A life choice that worked for so many but that, for whatever reason, felt dangerous and off-limits and frightening to him? He saw the adoration in his clients’ faces as they walked down the aisle. He saw the casual intimacy of years of shared love and affection between his adoptive parents. He saw the comfort Pairo and Altair shared, the way they could communicate without ever needing the words.

It wasn’t that Kurapika didn’t _want_ that. He _did._ Some nights he wanted it so badly he ached for it, his entire chest filling with this _longing_ for something he could not name. And if he could not name it, he could not know it; and if he could not know it, he could not have it. Whatever _it_ was.

And if it took the mortifying ordeal of being known to find love and connection? The risk of opening up all of himself to another, with no guarantee that it would work out in the end? He could not risk that. He was not so brave.

He realized he had trailed off when Leorio nudged his foot under the table. For a moment, Kurapika feared that Leorio would pressure him into continuing. But when he met his gaze, all Kurapika saw was understanding in Leorio’s eyes. As if Kurapika had not been lost in thought at all, and had actually been speaking his stream of consciousness aloud. He knew he had not, and yet with that knowing compassion in Leorio’s gaze…

“Yeah,” Leorio agreed. “Me, too.”

Kurapika exhaled a shaky breath, hoping Leorio did not see it as he busied himself with his drink and turned his attention to the television over the bar, which had been switched over to a different baseball game. His eyes trailed over Leorio’s profile as the neon lights shone over him. He looked handsome as ever, even more so with his shirtsleeves rolled up and his tie hanging around his neck, shirt collar askew. Kurapika was certainly not getting used to or _bored_ by Leorio’s attractiveness. But for the first time, he looked at Leorio and did not feel like he was staring at the sun. It was like settling into a hot bath he had been toeing around forever and finding, rather, that the water was just right.

This felt _right._ Like Kurapika was exactly where he was meant to be.

“What?” Leorio had caught his stare and started palming at his mouth and chin. “Something on my face?”

“No,” Kurapika said, just a bit too quickly and breathlessly. He hoped Leorio would chalk that up to the noise, the exhaustion after the past few weeks, or amount of alcohol in his system. He didn't quite catch hold of the words before they flew out of this mouth, though he also did not think he would have stopped them if he could.

“I think you’re my best friend,” he blurted out.

Leorio blinked. Kurapika immediately looked into his beer, which he still thought was terrible. “Sorry, that was silly. We’re not kids anymore. Plus, you already have a best friend. Which makes me sound even more childish. You know what? Let’s just forget I said anything. Or chalk it up to me being very intoxicated on Pietro’s really terrible beer. Well, not _his_ terrible beer, because he didn’t brew it. But I hate this. I hate beer. But I am going to drown myself in it now so I will stop talking. Farewell.”

He lifted his drink to his lips to take several long gulps. He would _absolutely_ regret this in the morning, but he could not bear the sight of those kind, lovely hazel eyes telling him that he really was an idiot, and to go away, and also he _did_ already have a best friend, so I’m good, actually, thanks for the offer.

“You done?” Leorio asked, his tone only warm and amused. Kurapika nodded, his gaze locked on his fingers as he picked at his cardboard coaster. “Okay, good.” He reached for his glass, long fingers golden tan in the low lighting, and Kurapika should not have been _fascinated_ by the sight but here they were. “You’re my best friend, too.”

Kurapika blinked. “I am?”

“Yeah,” Leorio said. He leaned back against the booth. “I mean. Yeah, Pietro is my oldest friend. But things change. He’s got other priorities now - Lita, the bar, the baby coming. That’s how it should be. And it’s nice to get to just be with someone who’s in the same place in life that I am.” He smiled at Kurapika, a sweet and surprisingly sober expression. “I like hanging out with you.”

“I like hanging out with you, too,” Kurapika said. He lifted his beer in a toasting motion. “Even if you have no sense of color palette and I’m going to beat you on this bet.”

“Oh, you _wish,”_ Leorio retorted, rolling his eyes. But he tapped his glass against Kurapika’s with his own sort of small, fond smile, just for Kurapika. Warmth flared in Kurapika’s chest, and he allowed himself to cradle it gently in his hands before he ushered it off into the night like a stray firefly.


	6. where the ocean stood (steady as the stars)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kurapika and leorio grow even closer as they settle into their friendship. gon and killua maybe, finally, make some damn progress. and at the end of it all, there's another wedding.
> 
> enter adorkable researcher couple pokkle and ponzu! 
> 
> CW for some mentions of bugs, if people care about that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa thank you all for your patience!!! i am so sorry for my delay. i had brainworms in the form of another fic, _and your whole wide world comes undone,_ which is a follow-up to my two previous fics _and i'm passing through your life_ and _and i've been so lost without you (are you lost without me, too?_ you can look at _and your whole wide world comes undone_ [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27577699/chapters/67459498), and you can read the full series [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014648)
> 
> that said, i thank you for your patience, and i hope this chapter makes up for the wait! 
> 
> this chapter's title comes from ["Old Pine," by Ben Howard.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Coj1Nb2DY_w) Many thanks to M for them recommending this song!!
> 
> Please enjoy!!

“Shut up.”

Melody’s smirk widened. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” Kurapika ducked his head, his eyes squinting closed. Not that Melody could see it, because he refused to take off his sunglasses. He _knew_ he looked like a massive tool for wearing his sunglasses inside at eleven o’clock in the morning. He did not _care_. Everything was too bright, too _loud_. The chatter all around them. The endless, nails-on-chalkboard scrape of cutlery against plate. The honking of cars in the street outside. The bright sheen and high-pitched ringing of the overhead lights.

God. _Fuck_. Kurapika had not been this hungover in _years_.

“I take it the Heil-Ly wedding went swimmingly,” Melody said. Kurapika did not need to open his eyes to know that Melody had progressed to full-on grinning at his plight. The great Kurapika, once notorious for his ability to party hard and still wake with the sun the next day, brought so low by tequila and beer. _Beer_. God, he felt disgusting.

“The best thing I can say about it,” Kurapika hummed, spooning sugar into his coffee and swirling it very slowly and carefully, because if he heard the spoon clatter against the side of the mug he feared his head would explode, and if he watched the spoon move too quickly he grew nauseous, “Is that it is over. And that is all I wish to say about it.”

He sipped his too-sweet, too-weak coffee. He grimaced and returned his gaze to Melody. She snickered into her breakfast, because she was a terrible agent and an even worse friend.

“We didn’t _have_ to meet, you know,” she reminded him. “We could have put this off for tomorrow.”

“I have never missed an appointment in my life,” Kurapika sniffed. “And I do not intend to start. Even if the menu is very… bright.”

Melody eyed the laminated menu in front of Kurapika, her gaze unimpressed. She rolled her eyes and took the menu away, announcing, “You are _the_ biggest baby.”

“Am not,” Kurapika whined like an adult man with a successful fashion and television career. He sighed, dragging his hands down his face and making himself sit up straight. He ignored the way the motion made his temples tighten painfully, the throbbing sensation just above his right eye increasing to a fever pitch. He was _thirty-two_ , not a college frat boy, and he was going to finish this damn meeting with his manager or he was going to die trying. Or throw up on the table, whichever came first. It might be the latter. He threw back half of his mug of coffee. “Let’s talk.”

Melody snickered. “If you insist. So. The Heil-Ly wedding.”

Kurapika sighed. Then he actually explained that entire disastrous saga to Melody, sparing few details. While he did not fear Melody would share any of the more private details of the family drama with colleagues inside their industry, he also respected his clients’ privacy. And his friends’. Their drama, their anxieties, their fears – those were not necessary for Kurapika to share with his manager in order for her to support Kurapika’s job.

Though there was not much that Melody really needed to do for Kurapika at this point, really. When he was an art student just starting to put himself out there and Melody scouted him at an exhibition, her knowledge and connections had been essential for him to advance his career. She helped him show his work on an ever-expanding stage, make the necessary introductions and network with fellow designers, learn how to read a contract and negotiate for proper compensation and recognition for his work. After knowing her for nearly ten years, Melody’s role had been largely relegated to someone who fielded the many calls that cluttered Kurapika’s inbox. No, by now she was a dear and indispensable friend.

A dear and indispensable friend who kept smirking at Kurapika every time he winced when someone was too loud, but a friend nevertheless.

A dear and indispensable friend who had left her ringer on _full blast_ , the tinny, shrill sound grating on Kurapika’s poor eardrums as her phone started going off.

“Please excuse me,” Melody said to Kurapika, like her phone had not just tried to murder him in cold blood at eleven o’clock on a Saturday morning. With a long sigh, Kurapika only replied with a thumbs-up and a nod. Melody snickered at his plight, but when she answered her phone, her cadence was back to its normal professional tone. “This is Melody.”

Kurapika tuned out her conversation. He respected the privacy of Melody’s other clients with a professional courtesy he knew they extended to him, as well. If anything particularly juicy happened, he was sure to learn of it through the grapevine or via the tabloids. With a sigh, Kurapika flipped his phone over to peek at the notifications he had missed. He disregarded several emails, reviewed his social media replies, replied to a few texts from Kalluto and Gon about how the rest of the wedding panned out. Surprisingly, there was no bloodshed or fighting. No one was even thrown off the yacht.

In the middle of scrolling through his Instagram, his phone vibrated with a notification.

_**Leorio Paladiknight, 10:57am. 1 Unread Message.** _

Kurapika tapped on the notification. He glanced at his previous message, a short confirmation that he had arrived home safely after his taxi dropped him off at his loft. 

_Back safe. Drink water. Thanks. I will hate you in the morning._

Leorio’s good-morning message was short and to the point: _I can feel my heartbeat in my teeth._

Kurapika’s laugh was ripped from him as a snort, the action hurting but genuine. He sensed Melody’s eyebrows raising at him, and he ignored her, ducking his head so his bangs fell over his eyes. It was not much of a protective curtain, but it kept the worst of her smirk at bay.

 _You deserve it,_ Kurapika wrote.

 _Go away. Phone bright. Hurts._ Leorio sent each sentence as its own text. Kurapika pictured him laying on his side, face pressed into a pillow, squinting at his phone as he typed with one hand.

 _You texted me first_ , Kurapika reminded him.

Leorio had read receipts on; for as much as he was bitching, he immediately saw Kurapika’s reply and started typing. _A bad idea. That’s on me._

 _Weak_ , Kurapika wrote. _I’m at a meeting in public right now. I feel great._

_Really?_

Kurapika swallowed down another laugh. _No. I dry-heaved over toast._

 _You fucking liar_ , Leorio sent. Then, almost immediately, he added, _Drink Gatorade. Or some fancy hangover cure you have idk. I need coffee. Gatorade. A breakfast sandwich._

 _Go to your bodega_ , Kurapika told him.

_I tried to get up. Room spun? Laying back down. I live here now._

_In your apartment?_ Kurapika asked. _That you live in?_

_Fuck off. This is your fault._

_How??_ Kurapika demanded via text. _You wanted to “get smashed.” You took us to a bar._

 _You suggested shots!!!!_ Leorio wrote. _Asshole. I’m going back to bed. I hope your hangover is awful & your hair is a mess._

Kurapika laughed softly. Y _ou feel better, too. Drink water & take an aspirin._

Leorio, it seemed, had regressed to only being able to use emojis. His response simply said, 👍

Shaking his head, Kurapika took pity on Leorio. He flipped over to his PostMates app and found the bodega Leorio loved so much, recalling its name from the bag logo the one time Leorio brought it. Bacon, egg, and cheese on a garlic bagel, hash browns on the side, Gatorade. He frowned at his screen, puzzling over which flavor to select far longer than the decision merited. After a few minutes, he went with red. That seemed like a safe bet.

It was only after he hit the _place order_ button that he realized that Melody had stopped speaking. In fact, her call ended several minutes ago. There was a smirk on her face as she peered at Kurapika across the table. She tapped at her phone. “Five minutes. You were sitting and smiling at your phone for _five minutes.”_

“So?” Kurapika challenged, very maturely. He saw Melody’s gaze flicker to his screen as it lit up. He immediately flipped the phone over.

Melody laughed aloud, sounding delighted instead of annoyed. “Oh, Kurapika, what is _this_ about?”

“Nothing,” Kurapika answered. “Leorio is also… indisposed. I was checking in.”

“By smiling at your phone like a teenager?” Melody asked.

“I think I’m at least operating in the mid-twenties range,” Kurapika argued.

“Hm, normally,” Melody mused. “But you giggled.”

“I did _not_.”

“You did. It was adorable,” Melody confirmed. She studied Kurapika’s face with those brilliant gray eyes of hers, taking in his tone, his body language, his microexpressions. Melody knew him so well, better than almost anyone else in Kurapika’s life. She was second only to Pairo. Kurapika braced himself for her observations, but to his surprise, she only shrugged. “Well. If you ever want to talk about Leorio, I’m here to listen.”

Kurapika frowned at her. They both knew he had already talked about Leorio plenty, because they worked together. They also knew that she meant _talk_ in a very different context than a professional one in this case.

Unbidden, Kurapika thought of Leorio after this past week. Leorio in his navy suit; Leorio standing over his sculpture; Leorio sitting across a bar table from him, cheeks rosy and eyes bright. The thought warmed him and made his hungover stomach churn in a way that made him both nauseous and excited. Always excited for the next time he would see Leorio’s face.

Kurapika pushed those thoughts away, feeling a mixture of embarrassed, annoyed, and guilty. “There is nothing more to say outside of our professional roles together. We are colleagues and friends.”

“Of course,” Melody said. The smirk was back in her voice, even if she was good enough to keep it from her face. Her tone told Kurapika, _I didn’t ask, but it’s interesting that you needed to tell me._

Kurapika was too tired and felt too awful to have the bandwidth for subtlety. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, just let me pay.” Melody rose to settle her bill. Only when she had her back turned did Kurapika check his phone again.

Leorio had sent him two messages. The first was a picture of his breakfast; the second was simply a string of emojis: 😭❤️😭❤️😭❤️

This time, Kurapika did not bother to hide the smile on his face.

~

“Pairo, very quick, very important question,” Kurapika said into his phone where it was tucked between his ear and shoulder.

 _“If this is about Leorio, I am charging a consulting fee,”_ Pairo told him immediately, because Pairo was an asshole. _“But yeah, shoot.”_

“It’s not,” Kurapika snapped, because it was true. Mostly. “I’m having company and I’m making mom’s spicy chicken curry, and I’m trying to remember how much paprika to add. Was it four tablespoons or teaspoons?”

 _“I desperately want to say ‘tablespoons,’ but mom and Altair would cry if I butchered our cooking so terribly,”_ Pairo said. _“It’s teaspoons. Kurapika, you do have eyes, right? Like, you can see the size difference between a tablespoon and a teaspoon? The orders of magnitude?”_

“Never took you for a size queen, Pairo,” Kurapika snarked, because no, he had _not_ noticed.

Pairo let out a bark of laughter that Kurapika dimly heard Altair echoing from somewhere else in their living room. _“Shut up, Pika. Is that it? Who’s coming over?”_

“Leorio and Gon,” Kurapika said. Pairo immediately started laughing and telling Altair he owed him dinner. Kurapika scowled, his face twisting and phone slipping dangerously. It almost fell into the curry he was swirling with a wooden spoon. _“And Gon,_ I said! We’re getting ready for the next wedding. We meet with the couple tomorrow and we’re reviewing their application tape.”

_“Ah, of course. What about my wedding, though? Your beloved, favorite, dearest brother’s wedding?”_

Kurapika rolled his eyes. “Your wedding is in December.”

_“And?”_

“It’s August, Pairo.”

Pairo sighed, long and dramatic. The static rush of air made the line crackle, and Kurapika winced. _“You and I both know you can’t rush perfection. But I suppose that I, in my endless love as your brother, can understand.”_ He paused for a moment, and Kurapika could hear the smirk in Pairo’s voice, and it made him grit his teeth in irritation. “ _You know, Pika, all work and no play makes you the dull brother.”_

“It’s not like that,” he insisted. Pairo scoffed. _“Really._ He is… a friend. Against many odds and to my own surprise, Leorio has made himself a very dear friend. I enjoy his company. But we are not… like that. We are colleagues. Friends. Professional partners.”

 _“The lad doth protest too much, methinks,”_ Pairo teased smugly. He even quoted the line correctly, because he was a pedantic little prick. _“It’s okay, Pika. You’re friends. You don’t need to convince me. But you can always talk to me if you need to.”_

“I know,” Kurapika sighed. “There’s just nothing to talk about.”

 _“Of course,”_ Pairo agreed good-naturedly. _“I’ll leave you to your very professional work dinner with your colleagues, at your home, on a Sunday night. Remember: teaspoons. Not tablespoons. Bye, Pika.”_

“Bye,” Kurapika said distractedly. The heat was too high on the pot, leaving the curry sauce bubbling. He swore softly and lowered the heat. He stirred the curry to try and reduce the bubbling that was splashing over the sides and threatening to scorch itself to the burners. Which was, of course, the exact moment his buzzer went off.

 _“Shit,”_ Kurapika swore. He glared at the pot, ordering it to _stay_ , as if the pot was sentient and was simply choosing to fuck over Kurapika’s dinner plans, and he rushed to the wall to buzz in his visitor. He also unlocked the door while he was there, because he would be damned if he was going to lose a fight to a _pot of curry._

A few minutes later, Kurapika was cursing fluently under his breath in two different languages as the pot started to smoke slightly. There was a knock on the door, and he shouted, “It’s open!”

Dimly, Kurapika noted his front door opening. He was too focused on the stovetop as it finally occurred to him that if he wanted the sauce to stop burning he should take it off of the heat. Which was why Leorio found him standing over a sauce-splattered stove with a bubbling pot in his hand, a dripping wooden spoon in the other, his apron stained, hair messily pushed back off his sweaty forehead with a headband.

For several long moments, Kurapika held Leorio’s gaze helplessly. Leorio was staring at him like he had never seen him before, eyes round and lips faintly parted in _some_ expression that Kurapika could not begin to parse over the roaring of blood in his ears. He was dressed in a standard ensemble of jeans, tee, and unbuttoned flannel rolled to the elbows. Between the way he was leaning against Kurapika’s countertop and his socked feet, he looked… comfortable. Wonderful. Like he belonged.

In fact, the entire thing had an unmerited flavor of _domesticity_ to it, and Kurapika almost shuddered at the realization.

“You’re dripping sauce on the floor,” Leorio told him. Did he sound oddly breathless, like he had taken the stairs to Kurapika’s twentieth-story loft?

“Oh – sorry,” Kurapika said nonsensically, because it was his own floor. Maybe he was the breathless one?

He settled the saucepan back onto the stove. He pretended he was focused on his cooking as Leorio approached him, finally stopping a few inches from Kurapika.

“You’re cooking for us?” He asked. “Normally we get takeout. I’m sorry, I would have brought something if I knew.”

Because _of course_ that was Leorio’s first thought. What he could have done to be better, rather than ask Kurapika if he was trying to kill them all with his terrible cooking. Kurapika closed his eyes and made himself stop shrieking internally. “It’s fine.” He glanced up at Leorio. “It’s a… Kurta cultural tradition. We don’t ask our guests to bring food for events. It’s about providing house and home, heart and hearth.”

“I see,” Leorio said easily. He smiled down at Kurapika like he had revealed some kind of secret, rather than shared a cultural tradition that he could have Googled. “Is it poor form to ask if I can help with dinner, then?”

He certainly took that in stride. His head was tilted slightly as he peered down at Kurapika, still standing just inside his personal bubble and not looking like he was moving anytime soon. To his surprise, Kurapika minded the proximity much less than he would have thought. He tore his gaze away from Leorio’s and looked back at the stove.

“It depends. The more distant the friendship or relation, or the more special the event – like holiday parties or celebrations – the more frowned upon it is to ask for help. But among close friends and family members, it’s more acceptable. It’s about _sharing_ in the ‘heart and hearth’ and all, you know? Creating it with family. I don’t think I’m explaining this well.”

“I do get it,” Leorio agreed easily. “Every year, all the ladies in my neighborhood get together and make enough cookies and pastries to feed an army. It’s about celebrating togetherness and unity. And bitching about their partners and making it through the year. The older kids babysit the younger ones, to give the adults some time to cook and prepare the last of the celebrations for them.”

“What do the men do?” Kurapika asked. “Do they not participate?”

Leorio snorted. “Oh, they do. They get together and hand-make more pasta than you’ve ever seen in your _life_. There’s at least three fights over who has the best recipes. Sauce, meats and fish, home-brewed wine and beer, the like.”

“And who makes the best sauce?” Kurapika asked, flicking his gaze up to Leorio. Warily, he set the pot back on the stove.

“My pops,” he answered without hesitation. “I swear, he could have opened a restaurant with ma. But he said that cooking was always his hobby and passion, and he didn’t want to make it work. I guess I can understand that. Anyway, then the entire neighborhood gets together and eats and celebrates the holidays. Everyone gets some kind of gift. It’s like a giant block party.”

“That sounds amazing,” Kurapika said sincerely.

“It is!” Leorio laughed. “You should come over for it this year. I think you’d get a kick out of it. Unless it conflicts with a Kurta celebration? Also, can I help with dinner, or…?”

“Hm? Oh,” Kurapika said. Much as he was glad to offer Leorio and Gon food, he also found that he was quite keen on the notion of them all cooking together.

_(“I think you’re my best friend.”_

_“You’re my best friend, too.”)_

“If you can make rice, that would be appreciated,” Kurapika finally told him. “The rice cooker is under the cabinet – there, no, yes, that one, in the back – and the rice bag is in the pantry.”

He eyed the planes of Leorio’s back and the flex of his arms as he reached up into the pantry, scooping rice out of the bag Kurapika usually needed a step stool to reach. A bubble of sauce popped and the hot liquid scalded his wrist; Kurapika jumped and swallowed a curse, not wanting Leorio to know he’d been distracted.

“It depends,” Kurapika finally answered Leorio’s question. “Kurta traditions are generally focused on celestial events, rather than a central religion. This year, the new moon falls on New Year’s Eve, so that will be a large celebration.”

“That’s after we all get together,” Leorio said. He grinned at Kurapika. “No pressure, obviously. I know this is months out. But it could be fun.”

Kurapika very suddenly realized that Leorio was inviting him to an important family event and offering to introduce him to _everyone in his life_. He pictured that night at the bar, the rough-and-tumble, warm homecoming Leorio had received, and mentally multiplied that by a hundred. It made his stomach flip, his face warm. It sounded terrifying. It sounded amazing.

“Maybe,” Kurapika murmured. He looked down into the sauce. “Pairo and Altair’s wedding will be on New Year’s Eve, as well. I’ll be very busy.”

 _“We’ll_ be busy,” Leorio gently corrected him. He plugged the rice cooker in and started it. He met Kurapika’s gaze. The breath stuttered in his lungs.

“Yes,” Kurapika agreed helplessly. “We.”

We. _We_. Was there a _we?_ Of course there was. A professional one. A work one. That’s all this was. They were colleagues and friends, close friends, dear ones, best ones. That was all. Not _all_ , it was everything. Because Kurapika had blurred the lines between personal and professional enough to find Leorio his best friend, second only to his own brother.

But that was it. That’s all there was.

The door buzzed, and Leorio stepped back. “I’ll get it. The sauce is bubbling over again.”

Kurapika looked back down at the stove pan and swore loudly. _“Shit –”_

Leorio’s answering laugh fizzled in Kurapika’s chest like soda fizz.

But with Gon’s presence, the heavy, meaningful atmosphere of _something_ heavy burned off, leaving them all back to their usual levity. Kurapika sat cross-legged on the couch, his bowl in his lap and sketchpad balanced on his knee; Gon had his back tucked against the couch armrest; Leorio sat between them, back nestled against the couch and one long leg crossed over the other, loudly complaining about Kurapika’s knee knocking his hips and Gon’s cold toes under his thigh, but he made no attempt to move. 

To Kurapika’s eternal gratitude, Ponzu and Pokkle both seemed like a very nice, normal couple with nice, normal lives and nice, normal families. Sure, they were zookeepers and scientists who spent half their lives in the middle of the jungle or thirty thousand leagues under the sea, and a great deal of their footage featured them on research trips with bugs, spiders, beetles, and deep-sea monstrosities on the other side of the viewing glass.

(“What the _hell_ is that?” Leorio yelped, pointing at the screen.

“A vampire squid,” Kurapika told him dryly, trying to hold back his smirk and failing completely.

“It looks like the bloopers in _Mario,”_ Leorio grumbled. Kurapika made to argue, but then he snapped his mouth shut and studied his television screen.

“It _does,”_ he conceded.)

Kurapika noted the logistics in his sketchbook. The pair wanted a beachside wedding ceremony; a reception in a park, or at least someplace sunny and close; their only requests for their wedding food was that no fish be served, and they wanted an ‘eclectic’ wedding cake, which Kurapika was _positive_ was going to make Killua pass out. Either from excitement or horror at the notion of bugs, he wasn’t sure.

After dinner, Leorio insisted on tidying up with Gon, bowling over Kurapika’s protestations with a smug, “you didn’t say anything about _cleaning_ , only _cooking.”_ He went so far as to lean over the back of the couch and gently set a hand on Kurapika’s shoulder when he tried to hop up.

“Seriously, K’pika,” Leorio said. “We’re friends, not fancy-shmancy guests. Besides, I can tell you have about a million ideas in that big brain of yours. Get them on paper before you forget.”

Kurapika could feel the outline and gentle pressure of each of Leorio’s fingers through his shirt. With a dramatic sigh, he finally acquiesced, settling back against the couch to draw. He _did_ have half-a-dozen ideas he wanted to jot down: the wedding canopy, the bouquet, the cake, the centerpieces. The loft echoed with the scratching of pencil over paper, of running water, of Leorio and Gon talking and laughing. Kurapika peeked up from under his lashes, watching the way Leorio cleaned up his kitchen like he lived here.

 _Domestic,_ Kurapika thought to himself, and the word did not seem so scary anymore.

~

The happy couple arrived at the _Light of My Life_ office precisely fifteen minutes late the next morning. This was not a problem so much as Kurapika _not realizing they were late_ until he checked his watch, saw it was five past nine, and proceeded to have a small existential crisis over his sudden comfort with somewhat dilatory punctuality.

But then their phone rang ten minutes later, and Leorio stepped out to fetch the happy couple. Kurapika stood to greet the couple with Gon, feeling like he had finally found his rhythm with this position. It was all the better for the way Gon greeted the couple cheerfully and Leorio handled the introductions and small talk and questions.

Ponzu and Pokkle were a delightful, adorable couple. Both were shorter than Kurapika anticipated, wearing t-shirts and jeans that showed they were heading to the zoo after this morning meeting. They each kept their heads covered via scarves, though wisps of blue-green and ashy brown hair (respectively) slipped out. They were eagerly telling Leorio about an upcoming dive they were looking forward to, testing a new set of deep-sea technology for ocean floor mapping. Pokkle was describing a fish he was struggling to classify as they came in, barely pausing to breathe until Ponzu nudged him gently in the side.

“Later, Pokkle,” she teased, her fingers closing around his elbow and pulling him to the couch with her. “Wedding first.”

Pokkle laughed. “I know, I know. I _am_ excited!” He put a hand over hers, meeting Ponzu’s bright blue eyes. “I don’t want you to think I’m not looking forward to our wedding.”

“How could I ever? You write my name in hearts all over your lab notebooks.” Ponzu rolled her eyes and sent Leorio and Kurapika a grin. “Which is how I figured how he had a crush on me, way back before we started dating. I just thought he didn’t like bugs, and _that_ was why he could barely talk to me.”

“I didn’t. I _don’t,”_ Pokkle admitted. “But I liked you. I liked your passion.” He beamed at his fiancé for a few moments before turning his attention back to the awaiting wedding planners. “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to derail there.”

“Not at all,” Kurapika said, crossing one leg over the other and setting his sketchbook on his lap for note-taking. “This is all quite helpful, actually. We do enjoy hearing the stories about how couples met and got together.”

“The meet-cute really sets the tone, don’t you think?” Leorio added. “And it gives us some fun ideas for surprises for the wedding. And lets us know what to do and what to avoid.”

“That makes sense,” Ponzu said, nodding along. “Because Pokkle and I were talking about the lists of things we want and things we don’t that we sent in, and I keep being worried that there’s something that I forgot to put down!”

“We are flexible,” Kurapika assured her. “The application is more of a… guideline. Or a brain-storming session. It gives both you and the wedding team an idea of the general feel and theme you want in your wedding. And now we have three weeks to bring it to life and fine-tune it.”

Pokkle and Ponzu exchanged looks. Then they grinned, wide and eager, and turned their attention back to Leorio and Kurapika.

“Then let’s get started,” they said.

~

“You’re getting better with the client interactions,” Leorio said to Kurapika later that evening from across his coffee table. Kurapika looked up from his sketchbook, blinking his eyes back into focus after staring at his page for hours. Leorio sat on the floor, his own large sketch pad on the glass top, surrounded on all sides by ripped-up failed design attempts, pencils, and rulers. His phone was plugged into the wall with its long charger, the calculator function open. This was the first time they had really sat together to start their individual projects for the wedding, and Kurapika was surprised by how easy it was to plan and sketch with Leorio sitting mere feet from him, doing the same thing.

Kurapika frowned at him. “Was I not good at them before?”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Leorio said quickly, before he caught the smirk on Kurapika’s face. “Oh. You’re fucking with me.”

Kurapika shrugged. “Guilty.”

“Asshole.” Leorio threw a pencil at him, though he hardly used any force to do so. It sailed across the table in an arc, and Kurapika caught it in his outstretched hands.

“Thank you,” Kurapika said, twirling the pencil between his fingers. “My pencil was growing dull.”

Leorio stuck his tongue out at Kurapika like a child; Kurapika returned the gesture before he looked down at his designs for the wedding outfits. Across the couch, Gon giggled at something on his phone before he turned his attention back to reviewing the footage from their most recent wedding, editing out anything that was unusable or too personal for their show. It was not difficult to guess who he was texting. Kurapika suddenly remembered that his bet put Gon and Killua getting together during the prep for this third wedding, meaning he had a window of the next three weeks for those two knuckleheads to get together and win him close to five hundred dollars.

Leorio seemed to remember at the same time he did, and he glared at Kurapika, wordlessly saying, _Don’t you dare, asshole._

 _It’s just making conversation,_ Kurapika’s innocent expression told Leorio, and he turned to Gon. “So, Gon. What do you think about –”

“Dinner!” Leorio half-shouted over Kurapika. He carried on with his interruption, “It’s late, and we wanted to watch that new series on Daddy Netflix –”

“Oh, shut _up,”_ Kurapika groaned aloud. Even he was not sure if he was more annoyed with Leorio steamrolling his attempt to poke Gon into _something_ or with Leorio’s insistence on calling their employer _Daddy_. Leorio shot him a dirty look that Gon either completely missed or completely ignored.

“That sounds great!” Gon cried eagerly. He turned to Kurapika, asking, “Have you heard about this show? Everyone’s been talking about it online! There’s reaction videos and tons of fanfic and theories, but Leorio and I have no idea what’s going on because we’ve avoided the spoilers. Also, can we get pizza?”

Kurapika blinked at the non sequitur. “Sure. We can get pizza. And I confess, I’m not familiar with the show. Leorio, would you mind ordering pizza?”

“It’s _your_ apartment,” Leorio said. _“You_ order.”

Gon laughed brightly at them both. “You two are ridiculous. I’ll order, then! Hang on.”

He stepped into the studio area of the loft to dial the pizza place down the street. Leorio pointed at Kurapika with a scowl. He mouthed, _cheater!_

“I am _not_ cheating,” Kurapika hissed under his breath. “I simply want to know _what_ is happening there –”

“Right before your time window closes? Uh-uh,” Leorio argued. The rasp of his low timbre almost made Kurapika shiver. Was he doing that on purpose?

“Yeah, well –”

“The pizza should be here in thirty!” Gon announced, his face still glued to his phone and mercifully missing the way Leorio and Kurapika’s faces were mere inches apart as they bickered. “Can we get started on that series?”

Kurapika glanced up at Leorio. Wordlessly, he asked, _truce?_

Leorio nodded. _Truce._

The three settled into their usual spaces on Kurapika’s couch: Leorio in the middle with Gon on his right and Kurapika on his left. It was comfortable, and Kurapika was surprised how much he relaxed into the warmth of company. He was even more surprised to realize that his loft felt oddly quiet in moments like this, missing the constant noise and bickering of the Zoldycks.

But Kurapika did not say that. He did not say anything, and instead he let himself settle into the couch, toes under Leorio’s leg and sketchbook on his lap. The sketchbook was quickly abandoned, however, as he found himself drawn into the story, some gritty adaptation of a novel featuring a protagonist who worked as a lawyer by day and a vigilante by night, working outside the law to bring the villain – incidentally, his boss – to justice. It was all just a bit too campy for Kurapika until the show introduced the lawyer’s love interest, a comely nonprofit clinic doctor, and showed that their bitter and cynical hero could barely string two words together in front of his crush.

Gritty, campy, _and_ gay? Kurapika could get behind this.

They made it through two episodes that night, munching on pizza and shushing each other when they laughed or gasped too loudly. The three bickered over their theories as they cleaned up their plates and glasses and threw away the pizza box.

“He totally knows,” Leorio insisted to Kurapika, referring to the end of the second episode, wherein the vigilante happened upon his love interest getting mugged in the middle of the night. He stepped out of the shadows to make sure he was alright, which Kurapika thought was very stupid if he was trying to keep his cover. But even more stupid was the idea of his love interest working out his secret identity at their first meeting.

“He does not,” Kurapika replied. He rinsed plates to put in the dishwasher. “How could he? There’s millions of people in Yorknew. All he has to go on is, what, height?”

“And voice,” Leorio reminded him. “Posture, personality, that certain _je ne se quois.”_

“You’re not using that term properly,” Kurapika pointed out, shaking his head in fond exasperation. “But anyway. There’s no way. Gon? What do you think?”

Gon rubbed a hand over his jaw thoughtfully. “I dunno, Kurapika. I don’t think the doctor knows _yet_ , Leorio. It’s too soon. But they’re gonna have to meet again, right? The doctor offering his business card means Chain is totally gonna have to use it. So like, the next time.”

“That makes no sense!” Kurapika cried. “It’s not like he’s going to take off his mask, especially if he and the doctor know each other as civilians. So there’s no way to know!”

“There’s lots of ways to recognize someone,” Leorio piped up. He was sitting on one of the barstools at Kurapika’s high-top counter, weight braced on his forearms. “And by face is just one. And besides, Kurapika, don’t you believe in that power of connection? That second of recognition when you see someone you’ve never met before, and you just know, ‘wow, this is really going to be something?’”

The words froze in Kurapika’s chest at the question. Because, damn, wasn’t _that_ an uncomfortably intense question in what he thought was a casual conversation? What a goddamn catch-twenty-two, because he could either lie and look even more like an emotionally repressed asshole, or he could tell the truth, and completely obliterate anything resembling a professional reputation.

Because there was no way in hell, nor enough money in the world, nor enough wine and egg rolls in the galaxy, that would get Kurapika to reply, _well, now that you mention it, the first time I heard you laugh I felt the earth’s axis shift beneath my feet, and that feeling hasn’t gone away, and it’s thrilling and amazing and terrifying._

Kurapika squared his shoulders and made himself smirk playfully at Leorio. His friend. His _best_ friend. “I’m not a romantic.”

It was not an answer, really. But Leorio understood, because of course he did, and he just grinned at Kurapika across the marble countertop.

“Yeah, I know.”

A current passed between them when Leorio said that. His hazel eyes widened a bit, and Kurapika knew he did not mean to say that aloud. But Gon, to his eternal credit, just spoke over them and broke their tension with the welcome grace of a bull in a china shop.

“Can we do this again tomorrow?” Gon asked. “I really want to finish the show with you all! And maybe Killua can come? He watched it already with his siblings, he said, but he promised he won’t spoil anything.”

Leorio and Gon sent Kurapika twin puppy-dog eyes, as if Kurapika could ever deny them. 

He could have, once upon a time, Kurapika realized. But at some point in the past three months, he’d lost his ability to ever say no to Gon’s sunburst smile, or Alluka or Nanika’s round eyes, or Leorio’s twinkling gaze.

 _Oh, fuck,_ Kurapika thought, even though he was already nodding. Aloud, he said, “Sure. We can finish this show together.”

~

_I’m going soft._

Or Kurapika was just dumber than he gave himself credit for. Because of course it was never going to be just one show.

They spent every night that week at Kurapika’s loft, leaving the office in the afternoon to do their own separate projects in his loft and then, when six o’clock rolled around, make dinner. Killua was able to break away from the restaurant on Wednesday, his night off, and join them for dinner, where he and Gon made a mess of Kurapika’s kitchen but made them a broad array of savory and sweet crepes. They bickered over what they thought would happen next and shushed each other whenever someone whispered too loudly. When they finished the last episode on Thursday night, Kurapika felt something like disappointment as the door closed after Leorio and Gon.

It was nice while it lasted, he told himself as he tidied up his kitchen. But he valued his space and his privacy and his solitude and his quiet.

He looked across the loft’s open floor plan, taking in the still-rumbled couch cushions, the throw pillows tossed haphazardly onto the chair, the abandoned blankets that still smelled like Leorio’s cologne. He did not let himself press his face into the still-warm material like a pining period piece heroine as he folded and put it away.

Kurapika swallowed and repeated, _it was nice while it lasted._

The next night, however, he opened the knock on his door at precisely six o’clock to see Leorio standing there with a takeout bag on his arm. Kurapika felt like he’d been kicked in the chest. For a few seconds, they stared wordlessly at each other. Then, Leorio held up the bag.

“Zaban?”

And Kurapika breathed again. He stepped aside so Leorio could walk in. “Sounds good.”

Leorio was here, he insisted, because there was this other space fantasy movie saga that was very popular and famous and amazing and he could not _believe_ Kurapika had never seen it, the uncultured fool, and so Leorio had taken it upon himself to catch Kurapika up on actual pop culture. Which was why Leorio made him sit through the entirety of the most recent trilogy in a sci-fi series that Kurapika found passably interesting. They stayed up past midnight discussing their theories, Leorio groaning as Kurapika butchered the canon and the movies with his criticism, and Leorio only just managed to catch the last bus going back his way.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. Except it kept happening. Kurapika went to work, he went home with Leorio and Gon and sometimes Killua, and sometimes Kalluto and Alluka and Nanika would show up on their days off, and they would each putter along with their individual designs and tasks, and then in the early evening they would cook dinner together and watch whatever the other three suggested. Kurapika’s opinions were universally disregarded, and he wished he found that more annoying than charming at this point.

Kurapika had never seen his loft loud and bustling and warm like this. It was just as well he did not have neighbors, because he would have gotten a noise complaint by now, between Leorio and Killua shouting at each other every half hour and the constant noise production machines that were Alluka, Nanika, and Gon. His favorite night by far was the one they all gathered together for a movie marathon. Killua and Gon shared the white armchair, squeezing together with a blanket thrown over their legs; Kalluto, Nanika, and Alluka made themselves a blanket nest in the middle of the floor where they had shoved the coffee table aside; Kurapika and Leorio took the couch, Kurapika stretched out across the cushions with his feet on Leorio’s lap.

 _Boundaries,_ Kurapika fruitlessly reminded himself, time and again, when some mix of the rest of the wedding team showed up at his door.

 _Next time,_ he thought every night. _Next time._

But if he was honest, Kurapika liked the nights that were just him and Leorio best. These were the quiet nights, the ones that were warm and good and precious, the ones where Kurapika slowly started letting Leorio help him cook. These were the nights Kurapika worked late designing or sewing, to Leorio’s constant consternation, though Kurapika reminded him that he could not comment when he spent the time designing, as well.

It was on one night like these that Kurapika broke their companionable silence to speak over the opening theme of the medical drama Leorio was “forcing” him to watch.

“Why do you love these medical dramas so much?” he asked. He fiddled with his pencil where he was finalizing the wedding arch arrangement, debating the merits of a miniature conch shell versus a scallop shell versus something bumblebee-themed for Ponzu. “It can’t be for realism.”

Leorio snorted. “That’s true.” He was quiet for a few moments before he finally said, “I always wanted to be a doctor.”

There was something different in his tone. It was lower, honesty softening it around the edges. Just a bit vulnerable. Kurapika carefully lowered his sketchbook and paused the show to give Leorio his full attention, a silent invitation to go on.

Leorio tilted his head back against the cushions, staring out the window. “I wanted to be a doctor my whole life, really. Initially it was because they make a fuck-ton of money. But as I grew older, it was because they got to help people, you know? Like, the idea of meeting someone on the worst day of their life and being able to walk them through it, to heal them through it, to physically reach inside someone and fix whatever was wrong? I wanted to be like that.” He chuckled to himself. “‘Course, as I grew up I realized that there are some things you can’t fix, that you can’t heal, no matter how much you want to. Then I finally worked out how expensive it all was.”

Kurapika interpreted this as a subtle confirmation of his guess that Leorio had not attended college. Leorio caught on to his silence and sent him a small smile. “That obvious, huh?”

“No,” Kurapika said honestly. He nudged Leorio’s thigh with his foot. “I’m just listening.”

Leorio did not reply immediately. He was still staring at the skyline outside Kurapika’s window. “I did surprisngly well in school. I even got into a few schools here in Yorknew. Accelerated programs, early acceptance to medical school, scholarships, the like. But the scholarships wouldn’t cover everything, and when ma, pops, and I sat down to crunch the math for eight years of school… I thought pops was gonna have a heart attack. And finally I realized there was just no way to make it work.”

“I’m sorry,” Kurapika said quietly.

“Nah, I’m over it,” Leorio told him, pasting a grin on his face. It was patently false, and Kurapika wondered if Leorio was really that bad at lying or if he knew Leorio too well to fall for it now. “It gives me something to talk to ma and all the old ladies on my block about. Plus, I got to save up and get my own place. Make the YouTube channel and get this job. Meet you.” Kurapika looked at his knees to hide his blush. Leorio added, tone dismissive, “So, in short, I watch these shows to deal with my thoughts about what could’ve been, in another life. I don’t think I would have been very good at it, anyway. I never liked to study. Not to mention I care too much. I’d burn out in a year.”

“I disagree,” Kurapika said. He met Leorio’s gaze, biting his lip to tamp down the words that wanted to come out. _Your kindness is your greatest strength. Your capacity to care for others is something I envy and respect. It is what distinguishes you from everyone else, and I would not see that changed for anything in the world._

Leorio swallowed and broke their eye contact. The silence between them stretched for a minute, and Kurapika hit play on the show. They were quiet for the rest of the episode. 

As the end credits rolled, Leorio’s hand settled on Kurapika’s foot where it lay on his lap. Kurapika neither moved nor breathed as every muscle in his body locked up. All he could focus on was that point of contact, Leorio’s thumb brushing over the fine bones at the top of his foot and ankle through the throw blanket.

“Thanks, Kurapika,” Leorio said softly.

Kurapika did not know what to say. But when Leorio finally glanced up, eyes painfully soft and just a little glassy, Kurapika realized he did not have to say anything. He only had to smile, and send him the smallest of nods, and that was enough.

~

“These are just a few initial sketches,” Kurapika said to Pokkle, presenting him with his initial design pages. “I took into account your criteria and wants – a high neck, long pants, and full sleeves. I understand that you also plan to keep your hair covered for the ceremony, so I’ve also taken the liberties to design some potential head scarves or coverings. If I’ve overstepped, I apologize.”

“No, not at all,” Pokkle beamed. He accepted the pages Kurapika offered and started to page through them. “I appreciate that you’re considerate without Pon or me having to ask. And these are amazing! I love them all. Especially… hm.”

Pokkle stopped his perusal on exactly the page Kurapika anticipated. Milky brown eyes narrowed as he scanned the page. A few moments later he laughed aloud as recognition dawned on his face. “You’re kidding. Kurapika, this is _hysterical_. I love this. We’re doing this design.”

“What did you decide?” Leorio asked from his spot next to Gon. The cameraman did not speak, but he nodded emphatically to show his own interest in the question. Pokkle laughed and turned the 13x19-inch paper around so it faced the camera. The traditional white tuxedo was elevated with the addition of a green silk vest, luminescent on the paper, and the addition of two long, flowing strips of fabric that hung, cape-like, from the shoulders to the calves of the design. Leorio cast a knowing glance to the design section of the studio, where he could see the same feature on one of the dresses Kurapika designed.

“It’s like a dragonfly!” Pokkle said eagerly, indicating the bright, metallic colors. “Actually, this particular pattern is most reminiscent of a damselfly – specifically the _calopteryx virgo_ , if my memory is right, which it might not be, because, y’know, _bugs_. The males of this species are known for their stunning metallic blue-green wings. Ponzu will love it.”

“That sounds perfect,” Leorio said kindly. He met Kurapika’s gaze and sent him a proud grin that made his stomach clench.

“Thank you,” Kurapika said to them all. He tucked a lock of hair back behind his ear and returned his attention to his client. “I’m so glad that you like it. If that’s what you’d like to go with, then we’re about to wrap up this meeting here. May I take your measurements for the suit? I can get started on this and then you can come back in next week to see how the initial mock-up fits.”

“That soon?” Pokkle’s brows rose. “Wow, you work fast! Sure!”

He jumped to his feet, following Kurapika and stepping onto the raised platform where the designer started to take his measurements.

“I’m really excited,” Pokkle was saying to Leorio. “I’ve never had a tailored suit before, let alone a custom-made one.”

“I am of the opinion that every man deserves, at the very least, a tailored suit at some point in his life,” Kurapika announced as he jotted down numbers. “And so I am very glad to provide you with one.”

“I’ve never had one, either,” Leorio admitted to Pokkle, and that almost made Kurapika’s head explode. He looked at Leorio from around Pokkle’s shoulders, frowning.

“Wait, you _haven’t?”_

Leorio laughed out loud. “‘Fraid not, Kurapika.”

“Me, neither!” Gon piped up from behind the camera. Leorio laughed and carried on with the conversation, but Kurapika was too busy taking down the last of Pokkle’s measurements to chime in again. His mind kept flashing back to that damned suit Leorio wore to the Heil-Ly wedding, the way it was snug over his shoulders and chest. He supposed it _did_ make sense, considering the tailoring did not play into all of Leorio’s many assets (Kurapika wanted to deny that he had spent a great deal of time thinking about getting Leorio into a very nice suit, but he really couldn’t get away with that at this point), but Kurapika had just accepted that not all tailors were, well. Him. Dear God, if that’s what Leorio looked like in a suit off the rack, then he would be absolutely _deadly_ in a tailored suit.

Gon, wild child he was, made more sense. And Kurapika knew exactly how he was going to win this bet.

(And be a supportive friend. But he was petty and competitive enough to admit he thought of the bet first.)

Kurapika spun around on Gon and Leorio the second the latter returned from seeing Pokkle out. He pointed to the podium in the corner with the authority of a child dictator.

“Onto the podium. I am making you suits.”

Gon and Leorio made identical expressions of bemused surprise. They exchanged looks that seemed to ask, _did you break him? – nope, it wasn’t me, did you?_ Kurapika folded his arms over his chest and tapped his foot.

“As I said before, every man needs at least a tailored suit. That is doubly true when that man works on a _wedding show._ You know. _Formal events.”_ Kurapika glared at both Gon and Leorio, daring them to argue with him on this. “Get on the podium.”

Still looking utterly baffled by this train of thought, Gon obediently stepped onto the podium. Leorio returned to his seat, raising a skeptical brow at Kurapika when their eyes met in the mirror.

“Don’t you already have more than enough work to do?” He asked. “Pokkle’s suit is going to be tricky. And you haven’t even met with Ponzu yet to design her gown. _And_ you’re steering this ship.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.” Kurapika jotted down Gon’s measurements. “I am perfectly capable of multitasking. I’ve juggled over two dozen projects before.”

“I think this goes without saying, but generally, you should not have more projects than hours in the day,” Leorio teased. Kurapika did not stick his tongue out at Leorio, but it was a near thing.

“You _do_ work a lot, Kurapika,” Gon admitted. Kurapika indicated for him to spread his arms, and the younger man obediently T-posed. “It’s really nice, but you don’t have to do this.”

“I’ve never done something I didn’t want to do in my life,” Kurapika reminded him. He gently pushed Gon off the pedestal and quirked a finger to bring Leorio over next.

“I doubt that,” Leorio said. “You always wanted your vaccines? Ate your vegetables? Eagerly looked forward to all your tests? Scheduled a dentist appointment without cry – _ouch!”_

“Oh, you are _such_ a baby,” Kurapika sniffed, lowering the hand he’d used to pinch Leorio’s side. He flipped to a new page in his little notebook to jot down Leorio’s measurements. “I barely touched you. Top or bottom first?”

“Gee, sunshine, buy a man dinner first.”

Kurapika was so focused on his work that he did not immediately process the innuendo. Without thinking, he scoffed out a laugh. “Hush. We all know I’m a top.”

His brain finally caught up to his mouth, and Kurapika froze. Leorio froze. Gon looked between them with a rapidly expanding grin and an expression like he’d just been told he was getting a second birthday this year. Kurapika looked up at Leorio, his hand brushing his knee. Their eyes met. Electricity fissured down Kurapika’s spine to pool, hot and sparking, in his stomach.

“Uh,” Leorio started. His hands clenched loosely into fists. “Cool.”

“Thanks. Sorry,” Kurapika said shortly. “Let’s just… move past that...”

Kurapika set a new personal record for his fastest measurements.

~

_**Kurapika, 6:32pm.  
**Pairo I need you to kill me_

_**Pairo, 6:33pm.  
**Gladly  
I’ve had this planned for years  
Why_

_**Kurapika, 6:37pm.  
**Told Leorio I’m a top_

_**Pairo, 6:37pm.  
**LMAOOOOOOOOO  
Fucking HOW  
You messy thirsty bitch i hate you  
Christ you need to get laid_

_**Kurapika, 6:39pm.  
**Fuck OFF  
And just put me out of my misery  
And DON’T TELL ALTAIR  
  
**Pairo, 6:42pm  
**Whoops._

_**INCOMING CALL FROM: ALTAIR AQUILAE** _

_**Kurapika, 6:42pm.  
**You’re dead to me._

~

Kurapika was more grateful than words could express that he and Leorio seemed to mutually, silently agree that they were going to ignore their innuendo-laced banter on Wednesday night. By Saturday morning, they were back to normal. Or, as close to normal as their lives as wedding planners got. Which, he admitted as he parked in the lot outside the Yorknew Zoo, was not all that normal.

“Ooh, this is so exciting!” Alluka cried, waving Leorio and him down as they approached where the Zoldycks and Gon were gathered outside the entrance. “We haven’t been to the zoo in years!”

Kalluto looked up from their spot cross-legged on the bench, pen in their hand as they plotted out the best route to take through the zoo. Their eyes landed on Kurapika, observing, “Your shirt has tiny giraffes all over it.”

Kurapika looked down at the white, short-sleeved button-up, like he had forgotten. “Yes.”

“Where did you get it? Because I need it immediately,” Kalluto stated. They pulled out their phone as if to order it on the spot. Kurapika snorted out a laugh.

“I’ll send you the link. Is everything ready?” He nodded to the cooler at Kalluto’s feet.

“Yep,” Killua answered for Kalluto. “I made our most popular cakes into cupcakes: vanilla cake with buttercream frosting, white cake with chocolate ganache, and strawberry cake with cream cheese frosting. The girls also made some of the dinner platters Pokkle and Ponzu wanted to try.”

“Excellent.” Kurapika nodded, acknowledging the Zoldycks’ good work. The siblings were not often in the habit of making work or house calls for their clients, but with the end of the summer coming, the zoo was at the height of its season, and Pokkle and Ponzu simply could not get away from their duties for a full afternoon to drive out to _Something for Everyone_ to taste-test cakes and meals. So the wedding team decided to bring the tasting to them. Hence this full-group outing on a bright, hot Saturday morning in mid-August. Kurapika slipped on his sunglasses and took a long slurp of his large iced coffee with extra espresso.

“Okay, here are our tickets,” Leorio announced, strolling over from the ticket counter. The couple, deeply appreciative of the team’s flexibility, had used some of the free tickets they got every year to give the wedding team a free day at the zoo. “Zoldycks, you also have some extra passes to show that you’re supposed to be in the research sections, just in case Pokkle or Ponzu let you loose. Don’t lose them.”

“You’re not my dad,” Killua mumbled as he took the tickets. The snarky reply Leorio was about to shoot back with was cut off when Gon gently snagged Killua’s elbow.

“Killua, did you see they have a whole big cats exhibit here? They do all sorts of conservation work here, it’s amazing! There are tigers, and snow tigers, and lions, and leopards, and jaguars, and cougars –”

“There are cougars everywhere, though,” Alluka deadpanned innocently, and Kurapika choked on his coffee. Leorio laughed so hard he slapped his own knee.

“Fuckin’ incredible,” he wheezed.

“Let’s go in,” Nanika said. She caught her siblings’ hands and led the way inside. Over her shoulder, she called, “I don’t want to lose sight of Killua or Gon in case we actually see them making some damn _progress.”_

“We don’t want that, though!” Leorio cried. “If they make too much progress Kurapika might win.”

“For shame,” Kurapika murmured as they finally walked into the zoo. “We can’t have that.”

“We _can’t,”_ Kalluto agreed emphatically with Leorio. “Allie, Nani, do you see them?”

“Killua has white hair and Gon is six feet of beefcake; yeah, I see them,” Nanika said dryly. She pointed to their right, where the path stated that the exotic birds, big cats, and elephants were. “They went that way. Let’s go!”

Alluka cackled loudly enough passerby looked at them; Kalluto groaned miserably; Nanika held her siblings’ hands like they were fifteen years younger than they were and marched them down the cement path. Kurapika shook his head, fond and amused, and sipped his coffee in an effort to wake himself up faster.

(If Leorio’s uninhibited laugh did the job much faster than the caffeine, no one needed to know but Kurapika.)

“How late were you up?” Leorio asked him as they walked, lagging some ten steps behind Alluka, Nanika, and Kalluto. He tucked his hands in his pockets, his head swiveling as he took in the squawking birds all around them.

Kurapika chuckled and did not bother to ask how Leorio knew he’d been up late. “Almost three. I still got a respectable five hours of sleep.”

“You’re _supposed_ to have eight,” Leorio said.

“You are _such_ a dad friend,” Kurapika laughed. He knocked his shoulder against Leorio’s, though with their height difference it was more like Kurapika’s shoulder brushing against Leorio’s bicep.

“Eldest sibling, sunshine,” Leorio laughed. “I’ve always been like this. C’mon, let’s hurry and catch up.”

Kurapika nodded and threw his empty coffee cup into the trash can. To his surprise, Leorio’s hand loosely closed around his wrist once he was close enough. Kurapika blinked up at him. The long fingers felt like a brand against his skin, hot even in the sticky August heat.

“So we don’t lose each other in the crowd,” Leorio explained.

“Of course,” Kurapika agreed, and he let Leorio lead the way. They passed the morning following the younger members of the team around the zoo, laughing and bickering and bantering their way through the big cat exhibit Gon was so excited for, and the exotic birds whose color schemes put Kalluto’s fanciest mixed drinks to shame, to snuggling baby red pandas that left Alluka and Nanika in tears. 

At one point, Killua pointed at the napping hippopotamus and said to Leorio, “He’s got your eyes.”

“He’s got your mother’s face,” Leorio shot back, grinding the knuckles of his left hand into Killua’s head. The younger man laughed, loud and hard and bright.

“Asshole.”

“Little shit.”

“Screw you. C’mon, Gon, let’s look at the rhinoceros!”

Kurapika laughed softly, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth to stifle the noise. At some point in the morning, his hand had tangled with Leorio’s, palm-to-palm. He was not sure when that happened, and he wondered at how something that should have been momentous was actually so easy and natural that he failed to even notice it.

It was growing closer to two o’clock, Ponzu and Pokkle’s break and abbreviated appointment, so the group made its way to the massive building that housed the aquarium, insect, and reptile exhibits. It stood nearly five stories high, and Kurapika craned his neck back to take in the amazing, larger-than-life murals painted along the outside of the building. Fish, sharks, dolphins, whales, turtles, bugs, snakes, alligators, and butterflies in their natural habitats adorned the side of the building. He was so busy ogling he did not realize Killua had frozen until he bumped into the man’s back.

“Killua, are you okay?” Gon was asking. His head was tilted, dark eyes wide with worry. He slid the palm that was tucked into Killua’s elbow down to catch his hand. He frowned down at their entwined fingers. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” Killua snapped. He tore his gaze away from the massive wall to look at his feet. Color was rising up his neck, burning his skin almost scarlet. He looked sunburned.

Kurapika looked up at Leorio, wordlessly agreeing that this was probably something they were not meant to see. They stepped a bit of a ways away to find a bench under the shade of a tree with shiny green leaves. They were far enough away that Killua and Gon would not see them, but close enough to still eavesdrop on their conversation, because they were nosy assholes.

“Well, it’s sort of clear you’re not,” Gon was replying to Killua mildly. He looked up at the mural, as if trying to reconstruct whatever train of thought Killua had been following before he freaked out. His gaze landed on the enormous painting of a praying mantis, mandibles gnashing. “Oh! Killua, are you afraid of bugs?”

“Shut up! I’m not a kid,” Killua lashed out. He angled his shoulders and face away from Gon, arms folded protectively over his chest. “I’m not – _afraid_. I just don’t like them.” He ducked his chin down so his hair fell into his eyes. “Don’t laugh, okay? I know it’s stupid.”

“Why would I laugh at that?” Gon asked gently. Tan, freckled hands reached up to Killua’s face, pushing the silvery-white hair from his brow. “Everyone is scared of something. Or doesn’t like things. I know _I’m_ scared of things that you might think are silly.”

“But you’re brave like, all the time, Gon,” Killua said. “You’re always so nice and outgoing and confident?”

Gon laughed softly. Kurapika wondered if he even realized his hands were still brushing Killua’s cheeks. “Fake it till you make it. I’m nervous a _lot_. At weddings with fancy people, and when I’m scared I won’t get a shot right, and when cars go past my house really loudly at night. Loud noises in general kind of get me, because Whale Island was so small and quiet when I was growing up. Then there’s, y’know, all the dad stuff I’ve got going on.”

It was one of the first times Kurapika had heard Gon mention his father since they met, and it was definitely the only time he could remember that Gon openly referred to any lasting mental or emotional pain he might feel from his father abandoning him as an infant. Killua did not seem surprised or taken aback by the reference, however. Instead, his blue eyes softened in understanding. Gon sent him a small, genuine smile.

“So, Killua, I’m not going to judge you for being afraid of _bugs_. Or not liking them. Whatever it is. It doesn’t make you weak or stupid. It just makes you a person with quirks and fears like everyone else.” Gon grinned at Killua, wide and real, the summer wind brushing his hair across his face. “I’ll keep the bugs away from you! I promise. And if it’s ever too much, just squeeze my hand, and we’ll leave.”

Kurapika could picture Cupid's Arrow nailing Killua in the back in that moment. Killua’s shoulders even went stiff, like they were reacting to a sudden attack. But then he relaxed.

“Thanks, Gon,” Killua said, almost too quietly for Kurapika and Leorio to overhear. “Uhm. I’ll take you up on that.” A long pause. “We, uh. We should go in.”

There was a moment – a long, sunlit moment frozen in time – where Kurapika was _positive_ Gon was about to kiss Killua. His thumbs absentmindedly traced the apples of Killua’s cheeks, his eyes dropping to Killua’s mouth. Kurapika realized he and Leorio were clutching hands in suspense like they were watching a movie.

Gon finally dropped his hands and took a step back. “Let’s go find your siblings! I know you’ve got to show off your baking skills to the couple. And maybe then we can go to the touch pool and touch the stingrays!”

“Sure,” Killua agreed, warmly and easily now that Gon talked him down. This time, he took Gon’s hand as he led the way into the aquarium.

For a few moments, Leorio and Kurapika sat in silence, making sure the younger two were long out of earshot. Kurapika whipped his head around to grin up at Leorio.

“This bet is _mine.”_

“You hyper-competitive little asshole, _that’s_ your takeaway?” Leorio demanded. “That was fucking adorable.”

“I’ve already said I can multitask,” Kurapika reminded Leorio. “And it was. Saccharine sweet. Young love at its finest.”

“Too good, too pure for this world,” Leorio agreed. He absentmindedly swiped his thumb over the back of Kurapika’s hand. A second later, they jerked their hands back into their laps. He quickly changed the subject. “Have you found any inspiration? On the trip so far?”

“Oh, I…” Kurapika fiddled with the strap of his messenger bag, feeling the warm, comforting weight of his sketchbook against his hip. He had been struggling to find inspiration for decorations for the reception party, so he decided to use the time that the Zoldycks and Gon were with Pokkle and Ponzu perusing the aquatic exhibits for ideas. “Not yet. Soon, though.”

He pulled himself to his feet, dusting imaginary dust off of his pants. “Shall we go? It will be cooler inside.”

“Sure thing,” Leorio agreed easily, rising to his feet and walking to the door with Kurapika. The abrupt change in light and temperature was a welcome shock to his system, Kurapika blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the dim. He pulled his sunglasses from his face and tucked them into his shirt. The air conditioning blasting chilled the sweat that made his skin sticky.

Directly in front of them was a massive hall, an open tank that took up the full height of the building letting visitors take in the recreation of a stunning reef. Kurapika craned his neck back to take in the swirls of silvery fish, the bright spots of orange and red and black and blue as larger fish swept by, the green majesty of the sea turtles as they glided past. It took him a few moments to realize that someone was calling his name.

“Kurapika! Leorio!”

Kurapika tore his gaze away from the meters-high branches of red coral to see Pokkle waving energetically at the wedding planners. He was surrounded by Alluka, Nanika, and Kalluto, who were looking up at the massive exhibit with wide eyes. Kurapika approached them, smiling at the groom.

“Pokkle,” he greeted, “It’s wonderful to see you. How have you been?”

“Amazing!” Pokkle laughed. “Seriously, I can’t thank you enough for being so flexible on this. It’s been such a weight off Ponzu’s and my shoulders. We were worried you were going to think we weren’t serious about this wedding or appreciative of your work.”

“Never,” Kurapika assured Pokkle immediately. “You are busy professionals. And as wedding planners, it is our job to make sure that the road to the altar is as smooth as possible.”

“The free zoo tickets helped, though,” Leorio added, and Pokkle laughed aloud.

“That’s great to hear! Once the season winds down and things are less hectic after the wedding, Ponzu and I would love to give you a guided tour of the zoo,” Pokkle said. “Fair warning, most of the rest of the zoo would be us saying, ‘wow, that sure is an ostrich, look at that weird sonofabitch,’ but the marine and insect exhibits will be fascinating.”

“That would be great, actually,” Kurapika said. He peered around the room. “Speaking of, where is Ponzu?”

“Ah, running a bit late,” Pokkle said abashedly. He pointed off toward a crowd near the back of the room. “Every two hours, Ponzu does a special showing with the bugs. It’s running a bit over now because of the crowd and questions, but she’ll be here soon.”

And sure enough, Kurapika could just barely make out Ponzu’s bright yellow hat and teal hair through the crowd. She was in the middle of eagerly describing the life and times of the massive beetle that was crawling slowly along her arm, its pincers almost the size of his own hand. There was a chorus of _oohs_ and _aahs_ and a very timid-looking Killua, who stood at the very back of the crowd with his hand gripping Gon’s for dear life. Gon, meanwhile, looked like a kid in a candy store. His hand kept shooting up to ask more questions, which was making their bride-to-be even more late, but she kept laughing and happily answering questions for the crowd. It was obvious that she was brilliant, passionate, and knowledgeable about the subject, simplifying terms and concepts about bug life cycles and hunting practices and explaining them to her young crowd. When he looked at Pokkle to ask a question, it was to see the man with a proud grin on his face, his eyes full of love for his fiancé. If this was how Pokkle looked at Ponzu now, when she was simply existing in the world as herself, Kurapika wondered how he would react when he saw her coming down the aisle.

Ponzu’s presentation wrapped up about five minutes later. A group of summer interns took the various cages the insects lived in away, and Ponzu stayed back for another ten minutes answering the crowd’s questions. At last she managed to untangle herself from the crowd and meet the wedding team, her smile abashed.

“Hello, there! I’m so sorry for the wait,” she said. “We’ve got a couple of camps in today, and the kids are full of questions!”

“It’s okay!” Alluka said. “We’re happy to be here. Thank you again for the tickets!”

“Of course,” Ponzu said warmly. “Pokkle and I agreed it’s the least we can do for you all, coming down here on your day off.”

Kurapika noted that the Zoldycks did not mention that they worked every single day, between their restaurant and their duties as the caterers for _Light of My Life._ Not that he expected them to. He made a mental note to do something for them to show his appreciation for all the hard work they put into the show.

“Shall we get to it?” Ponzu asked, clapping her hands together eagerly. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day! C’mon, I’ll show you around.”

Kurapika waved the Zoldycks and Gon away. They agreed earlier in the week that it was easiest for the Zoldycks to do their work with the couple if it was just the four of them (and Gon taping the taste-testing on his phone, which he promised would not be a drop in video quality that he could not fix up in post-production). With the Zoldycks gone, Kurapika and Leorio wandered the aquarium, taking in the exhibits. They mutually agreed that, with all due respect to Ponzu’s profession, they could do without the insect exhibits. They mutually agreed that they liked the sharks the best, though the dopey expression on the manatees’ faces kept making Leorio laugh. Kurapika revealed that his favorite animals in the aquarium were probably the turtles, and Leorio confessed his were probably the whale sharks circling in the massive tank, “because they’re huge and chill like me.”

(“I’ve known you for four months, and I can confidently say you’ve never been ‘chill’ in your life,” Kurapika told him.

“Oh, screw you,” Leorio retorted with no heat in the phrase, and he laughed instead).

They went to the touch pool, where Kurapika teased Leorio for his poorly-disguised expression of horror and disgust when he felt the sea anemones. Except at that moment a curious little ray brushed against his hand, and Kurapika let out a loud squeak that left Leorio in stitches.

Eventually, with tired feet and ribs sore from laughing, the two found a free bench to sit and wait for the others. Kurapika sat cross-legged to create a makeshift desk for his sketchbook, balancing it on his knee as he started to draw. It was either a sign of his exhaustion or of his comfort with the man that Kurapika did not shift away when Leorio peeked over his shoulder at his work.

“What’re you working on?” he asked.

“Centerpieces,” Kurapika said, his pencil flowing over the page in confident strokes as he took the image in his brain and put it to paper. “I finally came up with what I wanted us to do.”

“Do share,” Leorio prompted, settling his elbow on his knee and turning towards Kurapika.

“So, I was thinking we can make the centerpieces into something like the aquariums here,” Kurapika explained. “Use epoxy resin to suspend the animals so they look like they’re swimming. We can use the plants and little ornaments that they use at pet stores to make miniature ecosystems and scenes in each centerpiece. If we put candles under them, we can light them from within.”

“I love all of that, except the candle bit,” Leorio said. He trailed his finger over the page, following the shape of the seaweed Kurapika sketched. “Because one, I don’t know if the candles will get enough air if they’re under the resin. Two, if they _do_ get enough air, I worry about the flame melting the resin and making a mess. What if we used little tea lights instead? I could pretty easily replace the yellow lights with blue and green to copy the look of the aquarium.”

“That’s a great idea!” Kurapika said, surprising himself with how much he liked the idea as he seemed to with Leorio. He looked up from his page, grinning and catching Leorio’s eye. After a few seconds, Leorio smiled back at him. And in that moment, Kurapika realized three things.

One, the blue-green light from the aquarium cast beautiful, moving shadows over Leorio’s face, creating a portrait of light and dark that Kurapika’s fingers itched to copy down lest he ever forget.

Two, this work outing was some of the most fun Kurapika had ever had with someone else, dates and real, established boyfriends included, and all their clothes were still on. Not to mention this was emphatically _not a date._

Three, Leorio’s face was very close to his.

The two men seemed to realize that last thing at the same time. As one, they each drew back, returning to their own personal space. Kurapika doodled a turtle to distract himself from his nervous stomach and fluttering heartbeat.

“I’m going to get some water,” Leorio said, standing up. “Since we’ve been out and walking all day and we’re probably dehydrated. D’you want some?”

“Oh,” Kurapika said. “Yes, actually. That’d be great. Thanks.”

“Sure,” Leorio said, sending Kurapika a quick smile and walking off. Kurapika watched him go, eyeing the way the blue-green lights caught on his olive-toned skin. He made himself look away, catching the eye of a smiling mother sitting with a toddler a few feet away.

She smiled at him knowingly. “You two are _adorable.”_

“Oh,” Kurapika said, blinking awkwardly. He did not have it in him to explain to a complete stranger, _oh, it’s not like that; you see, we are actually work colleagues and best friends on a wedding planning show for Netflix, coming to your TV sometime next year!_ So instead, he just nodded weakly and looked at Leorio again. Somehow he had been drawn into a conversation with a family and a small child. The little kid pointed up at an enormous grouper, explaining something to Leorio with a gap-toothed grin. Leorio nodded along, totally engaged in what this odd child was explaining. He caught Kurapika’s eye and sent him a grin across the room like there was no one else in it.

“He is,” Kurapika agreed with the woman softly, wondering if she even heard him.

Kurapika suddenly came to a fourth realization: he was _so. Screwed._

~

The wedding day arrived much faster than even Kurapika anticipated. Between sewing the wedding day outfits for Pokkle and Ponzu, finishing Gon’s suit, and helping Leorio create the centerpieces for the reception (a night wherein the entire team stayed up until almost three o’clock in the morning, bickering nonsensically and laughing and sleep-stupid, and Kurapika awoke on his couch with a crick in his neck to see the Zoldycks piled on the floor in a massive cuddle puddle, Leorio putting the finishing touches on a few pieces that had not settled quite yet, and a steaming cup of coffee beside his head. When Kurapika sipped it, it was made exactly the way he preferred).

Because there was no dressing room at the beach, Ponzu came to Kurapika’s studio loft to get ready for her wedding. Alluka, Gon, and Nanika joined them as well, the sisters bringing homemade breakfast sandwiches, hash browns, and fruit to make a little party out of it. Ponzu arrived with her wedding party at precisely nine o’clock in the morning bearing coffee and sparkling champagne for mimosas. Soon after, Gel, Cluck, and Pyon arrived as well, their materials tucked into their bags. Eventually, all Kurapika needed to do was stand back and allow the professionals to do their work. The three were a brilliant team, their personal relationships making their professional one even smoother by creating a seamless system. Kurapika simply leaned against his kitchen island, coffee in hand, watching the controlled chaos unfolding in his studio.

“Ponzu, dear, do you prefer a more glamorous or a more natural look? I’m leaning natural, to bring out those lovely eyes, but it’s your special day, after all, and your opinion matters the most –”

“Oh, Kurapika, these dresses are amazing! You’re so talented!”

“Gel, honey, can you pass me the – the thing, there, no, no, that one, yes, thank you –”

“Ponzu, have you got everything sorted out for the honeymoon? Does Pokkle know the surprise yet?”

 _“Ooh,_ what surprise is this? Is it raunchy?”

“No! It’s scuba diving, we’re going to East Gorteau. There’s an amazing reef there that Pokkle has always wanted to see, we’ve just never been able to get the time off to do it –”

 _“Naked_ scuba diving?”

Kurapika chuckled to himself. His phone buzzed on the counter beside him, and he set down his coffee to look at it.

_**Leorio, 11:03am.  
**Pokkle’s all ready to go. You outdid yourself._

Kurapika bit back a smile. He replied, Y _ou’re too kind. Are you heading to the beach soon to finish setting up?_

Leorio replied almost immediately. _Aw fuck I knew I was forgetting something._

 _Leorio,_ Kurapika wrote.

 _Everything is ready to go,_ 🌞, Leorio texted. He attached a picture to the message, showing off the wedding arch made of sun-bleached driftwood. It was decorated with dangling yellow wisteria, white daisies, and baby blue eyes flowers arranged by Palm. White shells, starfish, and sand dollars adorned the decoration, and floaty white material caught on the sea breeze, waving gently around the arch. But what really caught Kurapika’s eye was the realization that this was a selfie, and Kurapika found himself frozen on the spot as he took in Leorio’s blinding smile, the flecks of green in his eyes, his sun-kissed skin, the collar of his pale blue shirt. He was so _handsome_ that Kurapika wanted to save the image to his phone as Leorio’s contact photo. Or his home screen.

But that would be weird and crossing their somewhat shaky boundaries, so Kurapika simply replied with, _you’ve outdone yourself as well, I see,_ and slipped his phone into his back pocket.

It was time for Ponzu to slip on her wedding dress. Kurapika handed her the full-length chiffon dress and indicated the changing room. Two of the bridesmaids dressed in their sky-blue dresses joined her to help her into the gown. A few minutes later Ponzu walked out, beaming shyly as the rest of the wedding party, the makeup team, and the Zoldyck twins shouted out their praise and compliments.

The dress was A-line, close-fitting on top and flaring out at Ponzu’s waist. The dress was in two chiffon layers, the lightest Kurapika could make the full-coverage dress without worrying that he was accidentally going to make Ponzu pass out in the sand from heatstroke in her wedding ceremony. The fabric was a bright eggshell white with embroidered butterflies and dragonflies on the top layer. Some of them were additionally outlined with metallic, shining thread that flashed in shades of green, blue, and purple in the light. Her head wrapping was white, made of the same fabric as her dress, with a bejeweled dragonfly clip matching the thread colors securing it in place. Kurapika wondered how long that had taken Palm to make. Everything about the outfit was floaty and bright and, unbeknownst to Ponzu, a perfect complement to Pokkle’s suit.

“Oh, Kurapika,” Ponzu gushed, delicately taking hold of the full skirt and twirling so the fabric flared out around her like a lily. “This is beautiful! It’s better than I ever hoped or dreamed – oh, thank you, _thank_ you!”

Kurapika smiled, ducking his head at the effusive praise. “It’s all in a day’s work. I’m very glad that you like it.”

“I _love_ it!” Ponzu cheered. She did another twirl, her eyes wide as she watched the skirt swish and the threads glitter in the light from the loft’s wide windows. “I feel beautiful!”

And that, Kurapika reasoned as the compliments started up again, was the best compliment he could ever receive.

The surprises did not stop there, however. There was one more thing that Kurapika had up his sleeve for the day. Unfortunately, however, it was not for the wedding couple. 

Kurapika may have been waiting at the edge of the beach for the Zoldycks to arrive a few hours later for the ceremony, just so he could see the look on Killua’s face at the exact moment he saw Gon’s new suit for the first time.

And it was just about everything Kurapika had dreamed. He got to watch Killua look up from his phone and see Gon walking around, camera on his shoulder. The sleeves of his linen suit were rolled up to his elbows, wrinkling the material but revealing the flex of his forearms as he moved his camera as needed. The cuffs of his pant legs were rolled up to keep him from dragging them through the sand, his bare feet eagerly kicking up sand as he moved around. He wore suspenders over top of his white button-up, two buttons undone to reveal the line of his throat and tease at the outline of his collarbones. A green bowtie dangled, untied, around his neck. The tan fabric played up his bronze skin tone and his dark, shining eyes.

Killua whirled around on Kurapika, eyes wide and accusing. He looked like he had somehow gotten a deep sunburn in the fifteen seconds since he left his car.

 _“You,”_ Killua hissed, pointing up at Kurapika. _“You_ did this!”

Kurapika blinked innocently at their resident baker. “I can’t imagine what you mean.”

“You – Gon – that suit – god _damn_.” Killua huffed out a long breath of air. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“Not at all,” Kurapika replied with a shrug. He managed not to laugh at Killua’s blush, but only just. “I think every man deserved a fitted suit, and Gon did not have one.”

Killua opened his mouth to say something scathing, probably, except then Gon caught sight of the two of them. A wide grin split his face, and he waved. His bright smile rivaled the sun glowing off the water. Kurapika swore he could hear Killua’s heart rate shoot into the hundred range.

“I hate you,” Killua mumbled, and he jogged on ahead towards Gon. Kurapika watched him go, finally letting himself smirk fully like he wanted to. He dimly registered another presence walking up beside him.

“I swear, you’re trying to kill that poor kid,” Leorio teased lightly.

“I’m not,” Kurapika insisted.

“No, of course not,” Leorio said sarcastically. “Just trying to win this bet, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Kurapika agreed. He glanced to his left to look at Leorio properly and was promptly knocked out by Leorio in his short-sleeved button-up, suspenders tight across his chest, blue tie just a bit loose. He looked back to the wedding and hoped karma was not out to get him today. “Shall we finish preparations?”

“We shall,” Leorio agreed. He offered Kurapika his elbow. Kurapika swallowed his internal yell and toed off his shoes and rolled up his own pant legs. Together they walked towards the ceremony, the sand warm and yielding between Kurapika’s toes.

~

The wedding went off without a hitch. Under the light of the setting sun, Ponzu and Pokkle said their vows, exchanged their rings, and were married. Pokkle cradled Ponzu’s cheeks in his palms like she was something precious, something once-in-a-lifetime, and he kissed her. They ran down the aisle hand-in-hand like giddy school kids, kicking up sand in high arcs behind them. They laughed all the way to the rented limousine that would take them to the reception area, an event space in a nearby park. The enormous gazebo fit over fifty people, and they had set up a dance floor in the nearby grass. There was a building nearby that gave the Zoldyck sisters a space to cook for the guests. Farther beyond the dance floor was a sandy beachfront.

Kurapika stayed for the entire reception this time, making up for him and Leorio ditching the Heil-Ly wedding. He half-jogged around the hall, offering a helping hand anywhere he could. Ponzu and Pokkle stopped him to say their thank-youa no fewer than six separate times, each time having something new to say about the ceremony, or the decorations, or the food, or the music. Kurapika had to agree that the reception area was stunning, Leorio outdoing himself as usual. The space looked like an underwater fantasy, lit in faint blue-green and yellow lights with splashes of pink and red spread about. The centerpieces were a hit, especially with how each one featured its own unique scene with various miniature animals. Pokkle laughed for a solid minute at the deep-sea themed centerpiece on his and Ponzu’s table, the giant scorpion, spider crab, and anglerfish floating ominously. Ponzu only looked fondly at her dork of a husband, her eyes full of love and adoration.

Eventually the reception started to die down, people making their way back to their hotels via the shuttles the hotel set up for these kinds of events. Kurapika glanced at his watch and saw that it was just past midnight when Pokkle and Ponzu finally went back to their hotel, the last to leave even though they had an early flight for their honeymoon in the morning. Ponzu and Pokkle were utterly thrilled by their surprises to one another. Not only had Ponzu surprised her new husband with a scuba diving session on the reef, but Pokkle had secured them a few days to explore the forests and swamps of the East Gorteau National Rainforest, a research spot that was apparently notoriously difficult to get clearance for.

(“Oh my God, marry me,” Ponzu insisted, her eyes wide as saucers.

Pokkle beamed, his face blushing even as he said, “We got married two hours ago.”

“I don’t care. Let’s renew our vows _right now.”)_

Kurapika slowly made his way back into the hall that featured the event kitchen. He yawned, muffling the sound behind his hand and loosening his tie. He saw Leorio standing at the end of the hallway just before the walkway opened up into the kitchen, which was odd, but it was late and they were all tired. He did not think much of it until he tried to walk past Leorio and the man flung out his arm to stop him.

Kurapika opened his mouth to make a small _oof_ of pain, or maybe to ask Leorio what the hell he was doing, but Leorio quickly slapped a palm over Kurapika’s mouth. With his free hand he put a single finger over his lips in a shushing motion.

Kurapika yanked Leorio’s hand away from his mouth, scowling. But he trusted Leorio, for some bizarre reason, so he mouthed irritably, _what the hell?_

Leorio’s palms were strong and gentle on his shoulders as he carefully maneuvered Kurapika in front of him, his back to Leorio’s chest. Kurapika glared reproachfully over his shoulder, still silently demanding Leorio tell him what the hell was going on. Leorio pointed around the corner. Kurapika finally heard the sound of voices in the kitchen over the pounding of his heart. He peeked around the corner to see Killua and Gon, alone, sharing a leftover slice of cake. They seemed not to have noticed their audience: either Kurapika and Leorio on one side, or Kalluto, Nanika, and Alluka at the other end of the room, their faces peeking around the corner in a row like they were in a Scooby-Doo bit. The three younger Zoldyck siblings sent Kurapika and Leorio identical mischievous grins.

 _This is ridiculous,_ Kurapika thought. Still, he stayed where he was. Because he was _also_ ridiculous, and nosy, and ridiculously nosy. And Leorio still had a hand on his shoulder.

“This is so good, Killua!” Gon said, breaking the warm, cozy silence. He immediately dove back in for another bite of white cake with lemon buttercream frosting. Kurapika noticed he was careful not to mess up the delicately molded frosting seashells or starfish that adorned the outer edge of the slice.

“Thanks,” Killua said, ducking his head shyly. Except that brought him face-to-face with Gon’s bared forearms leaning on the table and the flex of his arms in his dress shirt, so he looked back up at Gon, blushing. “I’m really happy with how the decorations came out. The buttercream could be a bit better, though. I’ll add more lemon zest into the frosting next time.”

“Ooh, that sounds good,” Gon agreed. He took another bite of cake, still leaving the sweet frosting shapes for Killua. Killua noticed this and took a final bite of the cake, chewing thoughtfully. Gon added, “You’re really amazing, Killua.”

Killua stopped chewing and made himself swallow with some difficulty, it seemed. He eyed Gon with a frown on his face. Gon caught his eye and tilted his head in confusion.

“Is something wrong, Killua?”

The use of his name made Killua suddenly set down his fork. The clang of metal on metal echoed in the kitchen, loud enough that Gon stopped chewing. Leorio’s hand tightened on Kurapika’s shoulder. Kurapika reached up and squeezed his hand back.

“Yes. No. Maybe,” Killua said shortly. He reached up to scrub both of his hands roughly through his hair. “Gon, what are we _doing_ here, exactly? I need to know. It’s driving me insane.”

Gon slowly finished chewing his mouthful and swallowed his last bite. He set his fork down on the plate to reply, “We’re eating cake.”

Leorio muffled a snort right behind Kurapika’s ear. He jerked his elbow back to _shut him up,_ because he refused to miss any of this. Also, he was pretty sure Killua would stab him in the jugular with that fork if he found out they were listening in.

“No, dumbass, that’s not what I meant,” Killua snapped back without any real anger. His hands were curled into white-knuckled fists on the countertop between them. “It’s just. I just. I need to clear some things up.”

He stood up to his full height, breathing in deeply like he was about to leap off a ten-meter platform. “Look, Gon. We text all the time. You stay at my house like, four nights a week. You help me cook dinner and clean up. We cuddle and sit really close together all the time. You compliment me like you _breathe_. You listen to all my bullshit rambling about the restaurant and baking and my siblings and true crime and my shitty, terrible family. You go to the queer youth center with my family and you made yourself everyone’s favorite in like, an hour, just because it matters to the girls and Kalluto so much. I just.” He heaved in a shaking sigh, blue eyes wide and just a bit wet. “I just need to know what’s happening here. Because, uh, if you want to be friends, that’s fine. That’s cool. But I’m kind of getting a vibe that you might… feel the same way towards me? As in, more than friendly? But I’m not sure if you do because you haven’t made a move yet, and you strike me as someone who would make the first move like _immediately,_ so I’m confused, so I wanted to ask if we were on the same page here. Are you flirting with me?”

Killua ended this rant with a short gasp like he had run out of air. He stared at Gon, looking nothing short of scared out of his skin. Gon’s facial expression had barely changed. Finally, he said slowly, “Killua. I’ve been flirting with you for _months_. Are you just realizing this now?”

Kurapika managed not to make a sound, but he feared he may have cracked a rib in the process. Killua’s mouth was opening and closing like a fish out of water, his face going redder and redder until he looked like one of the strawberries he used to garnish his cakes.

“Yes, I’m realizing this now!” Killua half-shouted, sounding more surprised and embarrassed than upset. “Because you’re – you’re _you_ , you’re amazing and funny and friendly and talented and _bright_ and – and I’m just… me.”

“Well, I _like_ ‘just you,’” Gon retorted. “And there’s no ‘just’ about it! Because I think you’re clever and funny and stubborn and sarcastic and loving and beautiful. I think you’re amazing, because you built your restaurant from the ground up and you support your siblings and it’s so, so clear that you love them all and that you put their happiness and safety over yours all the time. I think you’re amazing and selfless and I really, _really_ like you, Killua! And the only reason I didn’t say so in as many words, before, was because I know I can come on strong and be intense and I didn’t want to freak you out or scare you off! Because it was really, really important to me to get this right.”

Killua stared at Gon after this little speech, his lips faintly parted. “Oh. So. You _do_ like me?”

Gon huffed out an irritated little sigh, like he thought Killua was the biggest idiot in the whole wide world and couldn’t believe he was so cursed to adore him. He reached across the metal table to swipe away a bit of frosting with his thumb. Simply, he said, “Yeah, Killua. I like you.”

“Oh,” Killua said. “Okay.”

“Are we on the same page, now?” Gon asked, lifting one eyebrow and grinning mischievously at Killua.

“Just about,” Killua agreed. Then he reached across the table, his hands catching on Gon’s collar and kissing him full on the mouth. Gon did not so much as hesitate before he shut his eyes and pressed more fully into the kiss, his hands reaching up to card through Killua’s hair.

Kurapika reasoned that they had seen enough. Wanting to give the two privacy, he pulled back and turned around to leave. The motion brought him face-to-face with Leorio in the dim light of the hallway. The low lights caught on his eyes. He smelled like the sun and sea, and Kurapika found himself grinning helplessly up at his best friend.

“Fucking adorable,” Kurapika said softly, echoing Leorio’s sentiments from the week before. Leorio beamed down at him, warm enough to be a spotlight. But as quickly as it came, it dropped.

“Wait,” he said. “Then who won the bet?”

~

(Incidentally, it was Kalluto. Kalluto won the bet.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KILLUGONNNNN TRAINNNNNN!!!! i've had that scene in my head for MONTHS and i am SO GLAD to finally get it down! 
> 
> also i really wanted to have a little reference to _the blood runs stale,_ another leopika fic of mine, which you can read [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25776451/chapters/62604649). i TOLD you all it was written to be like a Netflix limited series!!! netflix let's talk.
> 
> as always, any comments/kudos are deeply appreciated!! thank you so very much again for reading! for more content from me, you can find me on tumblr at notantherwritingblog


	7. you're the only thing i wanna touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a new couple enters the scene, the seasons change, and kurapika and leorio contend with a new dynamic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHOHOHOHO thank you all SO much for your patience!! i hope you had excellent holidays and a pleasant and safe new year! this chapter was a labor in love and ALSO we have broken 100k words in this fic, which makes this the longest piece i have EVER written! and we are still going! aaaaaaaaa!!!!
> 
> this chapter's title is taken from [ellie goulding's "love me like you do."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=725WlG1idPc)

Kurapika woke up irritated.

Perhaps _irritated_ was too strong a word. There was nothing to outright bother him about this Monday morning except the obvious fact that it was, well, _Monday_. His coffee tasted fine. The fresh, rich bold roast left his entire loft smelling like a French café. There were no clothing or hair mishaps. His subway to Netflix HQ was on time, and while he did have to stand in the crush of people, no one spilled their own morning beverage on him. The elevator to the office was available when he pressed the button, and there were no more than three stops on the way to the 99th floor. He suffered no maladies or misfortunes on his way into work.

And yet there was a tight, crawling sensation creeping behind his breastbone. His skin felt like it went through the dryer and came out a half-size too small.

So, yes. Despite having no reason to be, Kurapika woke up irritated.

Leorio caught him tapping his pen on his desk, his leg bouncing beneath his chair. “Are you alright, Kurapika?”

“I’m fine,” Kurapika replied immediately, his tone barely on the correct side of curt. Nevertheless, Leorio only lifted a brow at him before he moved on, giving him space. Kurapika internally exhaled a sigh of relief.

 _Light of My Life’s_ latest couple was due for their first meeting with the team at ten o’clock that morning. This would be their fourth wedding in a row with almost no break (and given the way Kurapika truly lacked anything resembling a work-life balance, there really weren’t _any_ breaks). Kurapika took a long sip of his drink, musing over the uneasy prickling under his skin. He had been working nearly non-stop since the hectic run-up to Fashion Week in May. And now it was late August, though it felt like September was arriving early with the way the wind chilled his nose and bit at his fingertips in the mornings.

He frowned, drumming his fingers over the desk as he did the mental math. Had he really not taken a day off in five months? No wonder he was feeling bitchy.

The good news was that this was their last wedding for a few weeks. After this couple, there was a break of about two weeks between the next one set for mid-October. Kurapika made a mental note now to turn off his phone and sleep the entire time.

“What’s this next couple?” Gon asked suddenly, snapping Kurapika out of his daydream of two weeks of no alarms.

Kurapika flipped through his calendar, intensely aware of Leorio leaning over the table to try and read his handwriting upside-down. He could feel Leorio’s warmth radiating from him like a heat lamp.

“One Detective Morel Mackernasey and one Doctor Knov, both of the YNPD,” Kurapika read aloud. He glanced at the clock and saw it was a quarter to ten. “And considering the way their video said Detective Mackernasey is ‘punctual to a fault, except for when he’s not’ I would bet money that that phone will ring any moment now to announce that they’ve arrived. Or they’ll arrive sometime around two o’clock.”

Before he’d even finished his sentence, the phone started to ring. Kurapika smirked at Leorio, wordlessly communicating, _pay up_. The playful gesture stopped him from gritting his teeth in irritation at the loud, high-pitched ringing.

“I never agreed to that bet,” Leorio laughed, standing up to fetch the couple. His smile soothed Kurapika’s frayed nerves as he walked out of the room, giving him time to get himself under control.

Yes, that was the issue, Kurapika reasoned, taking a deep breath to gather himself. He was overworked and burned out, and that was making him cranky. He took another sip of his coffee and ignored how Gon curiously studied him from the corner of his eye.

A few minutes later, their door opened, and Leorio ushered in their latest couple. Morel and Knov were at least a decade older than their previous couple: Knov already had white hairs streaking his temples, and Morel’s shoulder-length hair was already salt-and-pepper gray. Were he to guess, Kurapika would put both men in their mid-forties at the youngest. He stood to greet the pair.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Kurapika smiled, holding out his hand to shake. “It’s so nice to meet at last.”

Morel laughed aloud, pleasant and booming. “No need to be formal! We’re going to be working together a lot over the next few weeks.”

“Morel,” Knov chided his partner gently. He gently nudged Morel aside and shook Kurapika’s hand. His grip was much less firm than Morel’s bone-crusher, though the cool gray eyes he settled on Kurapika seemed to slice perfectly through his skull and peer directly into his soul. Kurapika was quite positive the man could see every uncharitable thought he’d ever had and knew that he was the one who broke the microwave in eighth grade because he’d wondered what would happen if he put a grape in there, and not Pairo like he’d said. He was also fairly sure that Knov would know the reason behind Kurapika’s pissiness this morning.

But all Knov did was shake his hand and tell him very seriously, “I look forward to working with you.”

Morel and Knov were different from the couples Kurapika and his team worked with thus far. As previously stated, they were a fair few years older than their previous clients, in their late forties (in Knov’s case) or early fifties (in Morel’s). They had worked together in Yorknew’s Major Crimes division since their twenties, climbing up the ranks and growing from glancing colleagues, to professional partners, to romantic lovers. It was a love story more compelling and interesting than most of the ones Kurapika saw on television in the corny dramas Leorio and Gon foisted upon him (not that he could say that aloud). And the way they interacted with each other showed it. Unlike their previous couples, which were loving and touchy and openly emotional, Morel and Knov were much more subdued in their affections. They were obviously deeply in love and glowingly happy, of course – but it was a happiness nestled in wool and flannel, comfortable and cozy and well-established with their shared history.

They also had put a lot of work into their reception planning. Which was all well and good, and it made sense, because that was when Kurapika learned they were _already married._

“Oh?” Kurapika asked when Morel shared this. “I was… unaware.”

“Yeah, it’s a recent development,” Morel said, laughing sheepishly. He did not seem to notice the way Kurapika was slowly and thoroughly crossing out the _Ceremony_ section in his notebook. Which was honestly fine. Because Morel and Knov just carved away a nice third of the work their team needed to do. “We were going to wait for the show, really. We know you work so hard to make everything amazing, and I wanted to give Knov a nice ceremony instead of just signing a paper in the basement of the city courthouse.”

“Because I’m such a romantic,” Knov murmured. Morel laughed.

“I _know_ , but it’s the principle of the thing!” He insisted. Returning his attention to the team, he explained, “But we had a scare recently on a case. Ended in a shootout. I’m fine, everyone was fine, but it made me realize.” Morel leaned back into the couch and looked at Knov’s profile. “I know that the cases we work are difficult, and there’s always a chance something can go really wrong, really fast. And if that ever happened, I wanted Knov to be taken care of.”

“So you married me for the paperwork,” Knov said dryly. “How sentimental.”

Morel snickered. Then he turned back to the planning team. “I really am sorry to throw you for this loop. But with the wedding ceremony out of the way, we were thinking of just having a great big party. Something with that old fashioned, big-band feel.”

“Live band?” Leorio asked, ears perking.

“Naturally,” Morel said, nodding gravely. He and Leorio exchanged respectful, knowing nods. Knov met Kurapika’s raised eyebrow and lifted his eyes to the ceiling.

“Morel is very fond of the roaring twenties aesthetic and big, grandiose parties, and I am very fond of Morel,” Knov explained.

Kurapika laughed softly. “I imagine so.”

Knov’s eyes crinkled into a deeply affectionate smile. Drolly, he said, “I admit, I originally didn’t want to make a big fuss about getting married. It was just putting paperwork to something Morel and I have been for years. But now that I’m here and talking about the reception, and planning for it, and actually living the married life… It's funny. Because nothing has changed in our day-to-day interactions. But now Morel is my husband. My _husband. My_ husband. I repeat it until the words lose their meaning and are just sounds, but it isn’t getting old. And I find myself so very excited to show the world exactly what we’ve known we’ve had for years.”

Knov blinked, looking sheepish. He beamed at Kurapika with pink in his cheeks. “Ah, my apologies. I don’t mean to ramble.”

“Please, it’s alright,” Kurapika assured him. “We enjoy hearing the stories about each couple we work with. It helps us craft an experience that is truly suited to your unique tastes. And now that we’re planning solely for a reception, we can focus all of our energies on that.”

Knov hummed in content agreement with that. Drolly, he said, “I think that will be excellent. Don’t you agree, Morel?”

“Of course,” Morel said, doing a heel-turn in the middle of his own sentence and looking to his husband. He left an equally confused and amused Leorio in his wake. “Whatever you say.”

Steel-gray eyes twinkled behind Knov’s glasses. “I was just discussing the reception with Kurapika. We were thinking a guest list of about twenty, a casual dress code, and serving escargot and white chocolate fondant at the reception? And a DJ, of course, so guests can put in requests.”

Morel’s smile tightened. In a much more strained voice, he said, “Whatever you say.”

Knov broke at that, his breath leaving him in loud peals of laughter that made his shoulders shake. “I’m _kidding_ , Morel. Obviously we’re doing none of that.”

“Oh, thank God,” Morel sighed. He put a large hand to his chest. “You scared me there.”

“As if I’d just plan all that without you!” Knov cried. “In any case, those are all _terrible_ ideas! If you _did_ agree with all of that, I’d divorce you on the spot.”

“I want to be hurt, but I’m not, and I’m just too glad that we can make that joke now to even care,” Morel agreed fondly. He looked back at Leorio and Kurapika. “So, big-band themed reception? We’ll email the guest list over. Don’t worry about the seating arrangement or anything; we’re still deciding if we want one, and if we do decide on that, we’ll handle it.”

“We don’t mind,” Kurapika assured them. Morel snorted.

“If you want to do a seating arrangement for over two hundred people all involved in the criminal and legal system, as well as our families, you are _welcome_ to. But I think that would be cruel and unusual punishment for a crime you didn’t even commit.”

Leorio’s eyes flew wide at the mention of the upcoming who’s who of the Yorknew legal system coming to their next wedding. Kurapika’s heart stopped beating in his chest at the mention of two hundred people. That was larger than their biggest wedding to date (Menchi and Buhara) by over a hundred. A migraine started up a warning tempo just over his right eyebrow.

“Exactly,” Knov said. “We’ll take care of the guest wrangling if you don’t mind handling everything else.”

Kurapika sent the pair a smile that he hoped was not nearly as stressed as it felt. “Of course. It’s been a pleasure, gentlemen.”

Gon showed the pair out, chattering loudly and cheerfully. Kurapika sighed, long and hard, and pressed his forehead into his hands. Massaging his fingertips roughly into his temples did little to soothe his headache or the sensation that there were wasps buzzing under his skin.

“You alright, sunshine?” Leorio asked. He must have moved closer when Kurapika had his head down; he sounded nearer than before, his voice soft. His hand rested on the wing of Kurapika’s shoulder blade, the glancing touch of his fingertips like a spark to kindling.

Kurapika jolted upright, pulling his face from his hands and turning to face Leorio. He had pulled his chair over to Kurapika’s, sitting close enough he could feel the warmth of his knees almost brushing his. His eyes were settled on Kurapika’s, flickering over his face like he was searching for some kind of visible injury.

He was so close. Kurapika could see the flickers of color in his irises, the little scar that bisected his right eyebrow, the shadow of scruff somehow already darkening his jawline. So handsome, so kind, so _warm_. Something in Kurapika’s chest twisted, coiling hot and tight to match the flipping motions in his stomach.

Oh. _Oh_. Oh, _fuck_. He wasn’t irritated.

“Ahem.” Kurapika cleared his throat, turning away from Leorio. “I’m well enough. Just tired.”

“You sure?” Leorio took advantage of Kurapika looking away to trail the back of his hand over Kurapika’s forehead, down his temple. Fingertips flicked through the ends of his hair as he moved. Every nerve in Kurapika’s body was a warring mess of _yes, yes, yes_ and _dear god, no_. “You feel flushed.”

“Perhaps.” Kurapika reached to take Leorio’s wrist, pulling it from his face. Leorio did not need to know that he was internally melting. He put a placating smile on his face. “I get migraines sometimes, when I’m overworked. It’s my body’s way of telling me I’ve been doing too much.”

Leorio sent him a deadpan glare. “Kurapika, _I’ve_ been telling you that for, like, three weeks.”

“And I will listen,” Kurapika assured him.

Leorio was unimpressed. “After this wedding, though.”

Kurapika nodded. “After this wedding.”

Leorio scowled at him. Standing up, he ruffled Kurapika’s hair into a mess, fingers tangling in the fine strands. “Brat.”

“Meddler,” Kurapika replied, and Gon returned, grinning widely.

“They seem really nice! I can’t wait for their wedding, they want to focus on the catering for the party, so the rest of the team is going to be so excited! I’m going over to Killua’s tonight for dinner so I can tell them all about this meeting. How do we start? Kurapika, your hair’s all messy.”

Leorio snorted out a laugh. Kurapika leveled him with a glare and started putting his hair to rights. 

“Thank you, Gon,” Kurapika said. He pulled out a few clips he kept in his bag’s emergency kit (featuring Neosporin, band-aids, a travel sewing kit, a few hair ties, and several bobby and safety pins) and tugged what hair he could out of his face. Next he pulled out his computer to start brainstorming ideas for the suits. The roaring twenties featured cuts and styles that Kurapika knew he studied in design school, but he had not thought about historical fashion since spring semester sophomore year, which was – good _God_ – almost fifteen years ago now.

This was something not even Pinterest could nail down for him. This was going to require the big guns.

 _At least there’s one benefit to donating the minimum requested threshold,_ Kurapika mused, pulling up the hours for the art museum affiliated with the Fashion Institute. Just as he remembered, tickets purchased with a student ID (or dues-paying alumni) were only five dollars. Kurapika could have certainly shelled out for the thirty dollar admission ticket, but… he had already given this damn school enough of his money, if he was honest. He was not looking to add to his tab.

“Planning a field trip?” Leorio asked, suddenly looming behind Kurapika. He was large enough that he could bow over Kurapika’s seated back, hands flat on the table on either side of his computer, and still not actually touch him anywhere. No, instead Kurapika could just feel himself melting in the cocoon of warmth Leorio blanketed him in.

“Yes, something like that,” Kurapika said, his voice only somewhat strained in his effort to rein in his screaming. “The Fashion Institute has a museum and studio closely affiliated with the university. It features a lot of rotating exhibits and artists in residence. One of its biggest draws is its Fashion Through the Decades exhibit, which features fashions from all over the world over the past century.”

“So we’re taking a field trip to look at suits?”

Kurapika laughed, a shaky sound. “More or less, yes. You don’t have to come, of course.”

“Of course I’m coming,” Leorio said, as if it was ridiculous he would go anywhere else. “Gon?”

Kurapika looked across the table to where Gon was slurping down his iced coffee like he was watching a movie. He could even imagine Killua right beside him shoveling popcorn or, more likely, chocolate malt balls into his mouth. Gon finally finished his long sip of coffee and smiled brightly at them. Kurapika knew his answer before he even opened his mouth.

“I’m still reviewing the footage from Ponzu and Pokkle’s episode, so I don’t think I can make it,” Gon said brightly. “You two go on ahead.”

“Sounds good!” Leorio said cheerfully. He lowered his head just enough his chin almost brushed Kurapika’s head. “Meet you there tomorrow at ten?”

Kurapika glared at Gon, who was still smiling beatifically. Killua’s demonic nature was starting to rub off on him, clearly. Through slightly clenched teeth, he said, “Sounds perfect.”

~

Despite Kurapika’s baseless nerves, his museum outing with Leorio went smoothly. It helped that he only referred to it as an _outing_ in his head and _research_ aloud, and he had done a lot of thinking last night about his reaction to Leorio yesterday. He came to the very adult and responsible conclusion that he was going to put a lockdown on those hot, needy feelings and ignore them forever.

Even when Leorio approached his spot on the bench, hands in his jeans pockets and nice collared shirt rolled to his elbows.

Even when Leorio closely shadowed him through the exhibits, the curl to his shoulders indicating he once again felt out of his element.

Even when Leorio quietly asked Kurapika questions about the clothes they were examining, his voice low in Kurapika’s ear and breath brushing his skin.

Even when Leorio patiently listened to Kurapika’s explanations, eyes soft and interested.

Kurapika would ignore the static humming under his skin, sparking every time Leorio’s hand brushed his shoulder or arm or back, until they rightfully faded.

They finished their tour around one o’clock, deciding to stop for lunch at a quaint little café on their way back to the office. They sat at a metal table outside, a pastel green umbrella shading them from the August sun. Next to them, a flower planter full of pink, white, and purple pansies made Kurapika sneeze ceaselessly for their first few minutes sitting down. Leorio laughed at him for it, completely unperturbed by the way Kurapika scowled at him, his eyes red and running and nose stuffy.

“If you’re trying to intimidate me, it’s not working,” Leorio teased.

“I’m very intimidating,” Kurapika insisted. His loud sniffles were totally unrelated to this current predicament; he knew he could be very scary when necessary. Leorio smiled, tucking his chin so he could look over his menu.

“Of course,” he agreed. His phone buzzed with an incoming call, and he frowned down at his screen. “One second, it’s my sister.”

“Which one?” Kurapika asked.

Leorio did not have time to answer directly as he lifted the phone to his ear. But he made eye contact with Kurapika as he answered, “Lita! What’s up? You don’t normally call in the middle of the day.”

 _Lita,_ Kurapika thought. Carmelita, Leorio’s eldest sister. She was about Kurapika’s age, if he recalled correctly. The one married to his best friend and his first sibling to have a baby. From the way Leorio’s eyes immediately tightened when he saw Carmelita’s name on his phone, Kurapika suspected his first thought jumped to the concern over the baby. Concern that was rapidly fading and shifting into irritation, if Leorio’s expression was anything to go by.

“Lita, I _told_ you, I don’t want to –” Leorio huffed out a sigh, rolling his eyes as Carmelita undoubtedly interrupted him. He glanced at Kurapika for a moment before he looked out into the street. “Look, can we not do this now? I’m at a work lunch… Yes, obviously… No… _No_ , Lita, because I’m at _work_ … I mean, you’ll call about this whether I want you to or not, so go ahead… Yeah… Yes… Okay, tell Pete I say hi, give the nugget a kiss for me. Bye, love you too. You exhaust me.”

Kurapika watched Leorio sigh heavily, setting his phone back onto the table face-down. He asked, “So, she’s doing well?”

“She’s _meddling_ ,” Leorio groaned. “Which is her natural state. So, she’s doing great.”

“Hmm,” Kurapika mused, sipping his water. Judging by the pink splotches of color on Leorio’s cheeks, he did not want to discuss just what, exactly, Carmelita was meddling with. So instead, he changed the subject. “I like the nickname. ‘Nugget.’”

“Thanks.” Leorio looked immensely relieved to jump onto literally any other topic. “Pete and Lita want to be surprised by the kid’s sex – yes, I know gender is different from sex, and gender assigned at birth isn’t indicative of gender identity and presentation later in life, and all that, we’ve talked about all that as a family – and while ma is losing her mind waiting to know if she’s getting a boy or girl to spoil rotten, she respects what they’re doing. As if the gender has anything to do with how she hasn’t shut up about getting her first grandchild since they were married. So: long story short, with no name, I got creative. Hence, nugget.”

“Adorable,” Kurapika said in lieu of _hey, what’s your opinion of making out at this table_ _right now_ _?_

“Thanks,” Leorio said. He nodded at Kurapika’s messenger bag. “Did today’s museum visit inspire you?”

“It did,” Kurapika replied. His finger traced the outer corner of the sketchbook. “If you don’t mind, I think I may use the suit I’ve been working on for you as a practice run for the suits for Knov and Morel. I’ve some ideas to blend the older style with our modern one, so that they can be worn again, but I’d like to give the process a try before starting on the grooms’ suits.”

“You don’t have to do that for me,” Leorio assured him hastily. The summer heat was getting to him, it seemed; the pink on his cheeks was going red. He reached for his glass of water to drink.

“I know I don’t,” Kurapika said. “But I need to make suits using some patterns I am not familiar with, and I need to practice before it really matters, and I’m already making something for you. Two birds, one stone.”

“So I’m your guinea pig,” Leorio observed.

Kurapika pretended to consider that, smoothing his napkin over his lap. “I was thinking of a lab rat, actually.”

Leorio laughed aloud, his dimple showing, and Kurapika could only watch, chin propped on his hand, thinking –

_This is good._

_This is fine._

_This is enough._

~

“Oh, _wow_ ,” Morel exclaimed as the ballroom doors opened. At his side, Knov craned his neck back to take in their surroundings. His gray eyes skimmed over the three levels of the ballroom. Their footsteps echoed on the floors, the soft yellow light illuminating the geometric patterns in the hardwood. They shone under the light of the enormous, glittering glass chandelier in the middle of the room. The massive chandelier was flanked with several smaller gold ones hanging from the ceiling. Even Kurapika was briefly struck speechless by the gilding over the columns stretching to the ceiling, coiling around Roman columns, adorning the stage, framing the frescoes painted on the ceiling in a mimicry of the Sistine Chapel. Heavy red curtains framed the raised stage at the front of the room.

Kurapika could sense Gon’s awe and near-vibrations of excitement, but he held himself and his camera steady as he took in the awestruck couple’s reactions to the prospective reception venue. Dimly, he heard Killua and Kalluto asking the hotel manager a million and a half questions about their available kitchens and catering. Kurapika sent the harried-looking hotel manager a short nod, and she swept off with the siblings to show them their kitchens.

“‘Bid me discourse; I will enchant thine ear,’” Knov read aloud, his head tilting toward Morel’s. Morel looked back at him, gaze fond and soft.

“You’re such a romantic.”

Knov swallowed a laugh. “It’s on the ceiling, dear.”

He pointed above the stage to the sweeping golden letters painted below a trio of muses. Morel laughed, a totally unselfconscious sound. He seemed in no way embarrassed at his accidental gaffe as he walked toward the stage, holding his elbow out for Knov to take. His husband tucked his hand into the crook of his arm, golden wedding ring shining under the lights. Morel asked, “Read to me some more, doctor.”

Kurapika smiled fondly at the pair and allowed them a few minutes of privacy. He turned to peer up at Leorio. His hands were tucked into his pockets, face tilted up to the golden ceiling to drink in the sights. Leorio did not react when Kurapika joined him, hands clasped behind his back as he peered up.

“‘My love is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep,’” Leorio read, quietly enough only Kurapika heard him. “‘The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.’”

 _“Romeo and Juliet,”_ Kurapika murmured. That much was obvious; the words framed a painting depicting a pair of lovers atop an ivy-strewn balcony. The hero had a hand to his heroine’s cheek, tilting her face upward to meet his gaze.

Leorio did not turn his face from the ceiling, but he did smile at Kurapika’s words. “Of course you know that.”

“My brother is a writer. And I did theater,” Kurapika reminded him. “I know my Shakespeare.”

“Oh, now _that’s_ a challenge,” Leorio chuckled. He meandered a few more steps, Kurapika falling into step with him. This time, he read, “‘I’ll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell, to die upon the hand I love so well.’”

 _“A Midsummer Night’s Dream,”_ Kurapika shared. He frowned. “Not the quote I would have selected from that show, to be honest, but I did not paint the place, so perhaps I can’t comment.”

“Which would you pick?” Leorio asked.

“Hmm,” Kurapika hummed. He hesitated, making sure he had the phrasing right before he quoted, “‘Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.’”

“Romantic,” Leorio agreed. His head tilted as he examined the painting. The heroine – Helena – clasped her lover’s hands in hers. To the unknowing eye, it looked like a woman spilling her heart out to the man she loved. Kurapika’s heart was heavy as he watched the scene of Helena begging Demetrius to stay – not to abandon her again – immortalized onto the ballroom ceiling.

“What about this one, Kurapika?” Leorio asked. His voice pulled him from his thoughts, turning his attention to a third painting on the ceiling. “‘I do love nothing in the world so well as you. Is not that strange?’”

 _“Much Ado About Nothing,”_ Kurapika said right away. He laughed up at the painting of Beatrice and Benedick standing together, wrapped in each other's arms. He had no doubt the characters themselves would loudly protest such a foppish portrayal of their relationship. “Find me a challenge.”

“You’re on,” Leorio agreed. Slowly, they walked from painting to painting as they waited for Killua and Kalluto to return and offered the happy couple space to consider the ballroom as their reception venue. Kurapika dearly hoped they would make a decision soon; after several days of research and calls, he only found three venues that embraced the couple’s aesthetic desires, fit at least two hundred guests, had an in-house space for catering, and, most importantly, was available in their timeframe.

But judging by the way Knov and Morel’s heads were bent together, speaking in low voices and laughing, Kurapika did not think he had much to worry about anymore. So he followed Leorio from painting to painting, giving the title to the play as Leorio read their lines aloud to him.

“‘Love all, trust few, and do harm to none,’” Leorio read.

 _“All’s Well That Ends Well,”_ Kurapika said.

“How about this? ‘Hear my soul speak: the very instant that I saw you did my heart fly to your service,’” Leorio said.

The words struck a chord as they played like a bow over Kurapika’s heartstrings. For perhaps the thousandth time, he pictured that first day of work. Walking down a hallway and hearing Leorio laugh, entering that conference room and seeing his face and turning deaf and blind to everyone else, because all he saw was _him_ and he _needed_ to know who he was. He needed to know everything about him.

 _“The Tempest,_ I think,” Kurapika said. His voice did not even sound strained. He considered that a win.

“Hm, how about that one? ‘Doubt thou the stars are fire; doubt that the sun doth move; doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt I love,’” Leorio read. His voice was low and smooth, like honey or mulled wine. Kurapika could listen to him read Shakespeare’s poetry all day. All night. Murmuring the words in his ear. Mouthing them against his skin.

 _NOPE,_ Kurapika shrieked internally. He tore his eyes away from the line of Leorio’s throat. _No, nope, we are not doing this. We are at work. This is work. This is the job. You’re overtired and around ooey-gooey emotions all the time. Your mind is trying to make something where there is nothing. You do not mix the professional and… personal. Ugh._

Kurapika swallowed thickly. _“Hamlet.”_

“Neat,” Leorio said. How was he able to keep walking and reading these beautiful romantic lines with a straight face? Without blushing or tripping over the words, without being affected at all?

Because he was not an emotionally repressed disaster, Kurapika decided. Because he was not affected by narrating famous poetry about love to Kurapika, because he was in no way _interested_ in Kurapika. That’s all there was to it.

And that was good. That’s how it was supposed to be. Leorio reached the last painting on the ceiling. This one featured a man singing alone, long fingers strumming a lute. His ruffled collar and mustache revealed him as the artist’s rendition of the Bard himself. Leorio did not read this one aloud, actually.

“This is my favorite, I think,” He mused quietly.

“Oh?” Kurapika asked. This time, he read the golden words aloud. “‘Journeys end in lovers meeting, every wise man’s son doth know.’”

 _Journeys end in lovers meeting,_ Kurapika’s head echoed. He looked up at Leorio to find he was already focused on him in return. His expression was unreadable, eyes distant. His stomach flipped.

 _“Twelfth Night,”_ Kurapika said. Leorio nodded. The silence between them stretched out longer and longer, the Bard’s words of love echoing between them.

Leorio’s cell phone ringing brought their standstill to an abrupt end. Leorio jumped half a foot in the air, startled, and the rest of the world’s ambient noise rushed back in as Kurapika remembered to breathe. Leorio shoved his phone to his ear, not even bothering to step away from Kurapika.

 _“What,_ Lita?” Leorio hissed. “Is everything okay?”

Whatever Carmelita said made Leorio groan aloud, his free hand lifting to irritably grind the heel of his palm into his temple. “Lita. Yes, funnily enough, I _am_ at work at one o’clock on a Thursday. This can wait… Yes, it can, because I am _at work_ … I don’t want to!... Because I just _don’t_ , okay? I told you, because I… I…”

Leorio trailed off, eyes unfocused and distant. His eyes met Kurapika’s, and something flickered in their hazel depths, too fast for Kurapika to truly see, let alone attempt to parse. His head bowed.

“Fine. Okay, Lita. You’re right. I’ll give it a chance. Text me the details. I need to get back to… Yeah… Yeah, I love you, too. I know you are. Bye.”

Leorio hung up. Though he had not moved during that conversation, Kurapika felt as if the foot and a half of space between them suddenly stretched a mile. Putting a smile on his face and levity in his voice, Kurapika nudged Leorio’s foot with his own and asked, “Carmelita again? What did she want now?”

“Meddling again,” Leorio said lightly. “She means well. She’s been trying to set me up with a friend of hers from work, and I finally caved.”

Kurapika blinked. He felt his brain starting to derail. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Leorio grinned down at him. “Which means I’ve got a blind date next Friday! Wish me luck. I’m going to go check on the couple. You want to see if Killua and Kalluto have overtaken the kitchen yet?”

Kurapika tried to eke out an acceptable reply, but fortunately, Leorio was already walking away to where Knov and Morel were standing across the room. So all he needed to do was turn around and walk in the opposite direction to where he last saw the hotel manager taking the Zoldycks, his body automatically putting one foot in front of the other.

Because Kurapika was at work, and he was, above most all things, a workaholic. Renowned for his incredible focus and attention to detail and his ability to keep up his game face when it looked like everything was falling apart. Those same abilities were exactly what brought him to this position. So Kurapika took the feelings that were trying to break out of the yawning chasm of his chest and shoved them back down, welding his breastbone back together.

So he collected Killua and Kalluto from the hotel manager, sending her an appreciative nod for her patience with the two little perfectionist monsters, and returned to the ballroom. He met Knov and Morel with a broad smile, taking his spot next to Leorio like nothing was the matter. The little red light from Gon’s camera was just the reminder he needed.

Kurapika was not here to play. He was not here to flirt or joke or laugh or fall for stunning, funny, effortlessly charming men. He was here to work and make peoples’ wedding dreams come true. Nothing could distract him from his job. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gon and Killua exchange subtle looks. Kurapika resolutely ignored them.

“What do you think of the Roseview Ballroom?” Kurapika asked. Knov and Morel smiled at each other and answered, as one:

“We’ll take it.”

~

Kurapika sewed.

He returned to his loft at the end of the work day, alone for once, again citing a headache (Leorio and Gon suggested he see an eye doctor, and that… actually was not a terrible idea. He put it on his to-do list). He sat at his lace-weaving station, turned his music on to a classical station, and let his fingers fly. Chantilly lace, Point D’Esprit lace, Alençon lace. Soft white threads became flowers and swirls and birds and ivy, embroidered with pink and red accents, miniature pearls and sparkling crystals. Kurapika sewed until his fingers ached and his neck and shoulders knotted and his eyes ached.

Kurapika sewed and he did not let himself think of weddings or colleagues or dates. He allowed himself to feel the sick, churning knots in his belly, the cold flash of dread that sat in his chest, and he carefully and gently ushered it out the door. It was ten o’clock when Kurapika finally decided his work therapy had accomplished its goal. Joints popped and cracked all the way down as he stood to make his way to the kitchen. His phone blinked innocently up at him with its flashing notifications.

_**Melody Senritsu, 6:47pm. 1 Unread Message.** _

_**Leorio Paladiknight, 9:38pm. 4 Unread Messages.** _

Kurapika frowned at his screen. Reading Leorio’s name left his stomach rolling again after he worked so hard to put himself and the feelings he refused to examine to rights. He opened Melody’s text first.

_Kurapika! It’s been so long since we spent time together outside work. I have a table reserved at Fortuna next Friday at 10. Join me? Leorio, Pairo, & Altair are invited as well!_

Kurapika smiled faintly down at the text. He pictured Fortuna, the gay bar down on South and Alexander with its weird, dark red lighting aesthetics, its strange skull décor and graffitied walls, its forever sticky dance floor, and its enormous back patio. That place held dozens of memories of a younger Kurapika-and-Melody duo, partying and schmoozing and wingmanning for one another.

Yes, maybe a night out was exactly what he needed, Kurapika decided. He would go out on the town, find someone to scratch this _itch_ that smoldered under his skin, and then his life could go back to normal. He would get himself laid within an inch of his life, and then his professional partnership (and more importantly, his _friendship_ ) with Leorio would return to platonic normalcy the way it belonged.

 _That sounds excellent,_ Kurapika wrote. _I’ll pass the invitation on to Pairo & Altair. I will talk to you then!_

Kurapika let Melody draw her own conclusions from that reply. He forwarded the text to his group chat with Pairo and Altair and tabbed over to the message thread he and Leorio shared. 

_**(4:27pm):** hey, just wanted to check in since you were feeling sick! let me know if you’re ok?_

_**(4:28pm):** and lmk if you need anything!_

_**(6:09pm):** also, please take care if you’re feeling sick! we still have lots of time before the wedding so please don’t push yourself. i can hold down the fort for a few days if you need time off._

_**(8:24pm):** aaand since it’s been a while i’m assuming you’re asleep, so i hope you sleep well & feel better tomorrow! take care!_

Kurapika sighed. _Well, now I just feel like an asshole._ He felt embarrassed and ashamed, like he was coming out of a temper tantrum. Which was not completely inaccurate, he supposed, if one wanted to be uncharitable about it. Not that Kurapika was generally inclined to be gentle with himself.

Gut churning with guilt, Kurapika typed, _My apologies for the delayed response. I set down my phone when I got home. Thank you for your concern._

There. That was the best reply he could muster without outright lying. Given the late hour, Kurapika did not anticipate a reply. Which was why, of course, his phone immediately buzzed with a reply almost as soon as he turned his back. Sighing, Kurapika made himself put a frozen dinner in his microwave before he opened his text. He refused to be such a prepubescent over this.

Leorio wrote, _it’s ok!!! are you feeling better??_

 _Yes, thank you,_ Kurapika wrote. _I’ll be in tomorrow at my usual time._

 _I’d say “don’t push yourself,” but we both know you’ll do what you want,_ Leorio replied. Kurapika swallowed a laugh. The microwave went off, and he set his phone down so he could dig a fork into the plastic tin and wiggle the half-frozen pasta around. When he returned to his phone screen, Leorio had added: y _ou know what? i’m gonna say it anyway. just to cover my bases. don’t push yourself._

This time, Kurapika laughed aloud. _I appreciate the concern, truly. But I am perfectly well, I promise. Migraines happen. I’ll see you tomorrow._

The read receipt popped up almost immediately, but Leorio did not reply. With a sigh, Kurapika buried his face in his hands with a groan. He was a disaster. An idiot. A fool trying so hard to balance all his spinning plates that they were starting to crash to the floor one by one by one. _God_ , he needed a week off. Some time away, on his own, sleeping in and allowing his social and creative energy to replenish itself, and then he would be right as rain. Everything would go back to normal. Right?

_Right?_

His phone buzzed. Kurapika parted his fingers so he could see through the lattice over his eyes. Pairo’s name flashed on his phone screen, and Kurapika let a small smile curl his lips. Somehow, Pairo always seemed to know exactly when to call (he also knew when not to call, to be fair).

Kurapika answered the phone, putting it on speaker phone to free his hands. It would be nice to have some company for dinner, some noise to fill the silence. He greeted, “Pairo. This still isn’t the strangest time you’ve called me.”

Pairo laughed. _“The two a.m. thing was once! And it was because I’d had a writing breakthrough and needed to talk it out, and Altair was at work!”_

Kurapika hummed, digging his fork into his broccoli alfredo. “Never mind that I had work the next morning, myself.”

_“You were fine.”_

“I was late to a meeting with my manager. It remains the only tardy mark on my record with her.”

 _“Oh my God, Pika, you’re thirty-two. Shut up,”_ Pairo ordered. _“Anyway, this is about Miss Melody, funnily enough. At least in a roundabout way.”_

“Oh?” Kurapika took a bite of pasta that was somehow simultaneously the hottest thing he had ever put in his mouth and still frozen. He needed a new microwave. He was immensely grateful Pairo was not there to watch him spit out his mouthful into a napkin.

 _“Yes,”_ Pairo said. _“I wanted to apologize for not being able to make it! And we haven’t talked in a while, so I thought I’d call. Altair has a shift that night, and considering I am behind on my edits, my manager may actually chain me to my desk if she catches wind of me partying when I’m four chapters behind.”_

“Kinky,” Kurapika scoffed. Pairo laughed again.

_“Only Altair can do that.”_

“Nope, not having this conversation,” Kurapika announced. “I am hanging up on you if you try to say any more.”

 _“I won’t, I won’t!”_ Pairo promised in a yelp. _“Really, I just feel bad that Melody will be stuck third wheeling you and Leorio.”_

Kurapika grimaced at Leorio’s name. “No need. Leorio will not be in attendance.”

 _“Whoa, what? Why?”_ Pairo asked.

“He will be otherwise engaged,” Kurapika replied, his tone clearly saying, _I do not want to talk about this._ Pairo, the perfect brother he was, completely ignored his implication and barged ahead anyway.

 _“How? And why are you pissy about it? You know he’d go out on the town with you if you wanted. Didn’t you two get trashed like some college kids a few weeks ago?”_ Pairo asked. 

“I am _not_ pissy.”

 _“Are too,”_ Pairo insisted. Kurapika could perfectly imagine the pouty scowl on Pairo’s lips, a mix of frustration and amusement and weariness. _“Whenever you’re upset and pretending you’re not, you get about a hundred times more formal in Common.”_

“I said, I’m _not pissy,”_ Kurapika hissed, switching to Kurtan.

 _“Oh, well, that clears that up,”_ Pairo said sarcastically. He, too, seamlessly switched to their native Kurtan. When he went on, his tone was much more gentle. _“C’mon, Kurapika, what’s bothering you?”_

Kurapika sighed. “It’s stupid.”

 _“Can’t be stupider than this conversation,”_ Pairo said reasonably. _“Getting you to talk about your feelings is like pulling teeth. Without the Novocain.”_

“Fuck off.” Kurapika sighed. “Leorio won’t make it to this outing because he has a date.”

 _“Ohh,”_ Pairo exhaled, drawing the word out long. _“Now everything makes sense.”_

“What does?” Kurapika demanded.

 _“Just… all of this.”_ Kurapika knew Pairo was waving a hand through the air, gesticulating at an imaginary apparition of his brother. _“Leorio has a date, so you’re definitely in an emotional tailspin over capital-F Feelings that you’re refusing to examine,_ _and if I know you, and I do,_ _you’re pissed about it, you’ve been trying to squish these feelings down and ignore them, and that works for a little bit, but then they pop back up again like little moles at the most inconvenient times. Am I getting warmer?”_

Kurapika’s mouth was dry. “Fuck off, Pairo.”

Pairo chortled. _“I will. Sorry, Kurapika. Just… be kind to yourself, okay? It’s not a sin to have feelings. Especially for someone like Leorio.”_

“I don’t,” Kurapika insisted reflexively. Quickly, he amended, “And you still haven’t met him.”

 _“Maybe,”_ Pairo hummed. _“But if he leaves you like this, how bad can he be?”_ He did not allow Kurapika a chance to respond. Airily, he went on, _“Well, I have to keep going with this all-nighter and try to catch up on edits. Talk to you soon, Pika. Tell me what happens.”_

“You know I won’t,” Kurapika sighed, a tiny chuckle on the exhale that Pairo echoed.

_“Yeah, I do. Night.”_

~

During Fashion Week, way back in April – which seemed like forever ago now – there was a Moment. A Moment where Kurapika stood frozen in the middle of a million little things going wrong around him, a perfect storm finally breaking. He watched as models sat confused at their stations, their makeup artists and stylists calling them by the wrong names and showing up with the wrong brands; as his fellow designers murmured together, their voices growing higher in pitch and volume as the dominoes started to fall; as a catering at last showed up late, an exhausted and stressed college kid pushing their cart too quickly and catching the edge of a rack of clothes, causing it to spill to the floor alongside the food. Fruit and vegetable trays went flying alongside the sandwiches and pasta salad. They made horrible, heavy, wet noises as they hit the ground and splattered all over the designers’ pieces.

Kurapika found himself in the middle of the throng of designers. All around him, the world slowed to a standstill. He stood in the eye of a hurricane, watching everything careen wildly out of his control, and he knew he had a choice. He could buckle down, brace for impact, and white-knuckle his way through it, or he could bow to the winds and wails and lose himself in them.

Needless to say, Kurapika refused to be helpless in any situation. He made it work and resolved to never, ever allow himself to lose control of a situation again. He would look ahead, consider all the angles and pitfalls, and plan accordingly. It served him well thus far.

Perhaps Kurapika grew cocky, or maybe he was simply naïve all along. Because there were some things that a person could not plan for. There were some things in life that a person couldn’t see coming.

All of this was to say that Kurapika’s tight reins of control over his life ultimately snapped in the most predictable, clichéd way.

It started with The Suit.

The day following the Ballroom Conversation, Kurapika showed up to work at his usual time with his usual iced coffee and sat in his usual spot with his usual notebook and did his work like he always did. And everything was Normal and Fine and Great and he and Leorio acted like nothing had happened at all, because it was true, and they did not talk at all about Leorio’s looming Blind Date, because why would they? It was just a date and they were just friends and colleagues and Kurapika made himself smile and participate in Leorio’s conversation with Gon and Killua about good, neutral Blind Dinner Date options that would not be weird, and Leorio smiled and accepted his recommendation of a sleepy, cozy café that served the best soup and sandwiches in the city, and they would certainly _have a great time_ and _get to know each other_ and Kurapika went home and sewed late into the night until his fingers ached.

Everything was fucking rosy and wonderful and _fine_ , the menu and desserts and seating arrangements and band and designs coming together wonderfully, because Kurapika was damn good at his job, thank you.

That is, until The Suit.

It was Tuesday evening. Kurapika spent the weekend finishing Leorio’s suit and getting started on the mock-ups for Morel and Knov. Their day ended with Kurapika finalizing his designs with the pair. Gon walked the couple out and drove to the Zoldyck household for their weekly game night and family dinner. And Leorio, instead of leaving, kept his happy ass plopped right on Kurapika’s couch, because they were friends and they made a habit of this in the past several weeks. Of hanging out and eating dinner and watching TV (they were still making their way through _Grey’s Anatomy,_ interspersed with _Criminal Minds_ , trading to the other show when one became unbearable for some reason or another).

Kurapika subtly drummed his fingers over his sewing station, willing away the strange stirring sensation snarling in his stomach. This should not be hard. It should not be difficult to have a conversation with Leorio. His friend. His _best friend_. And it wasn’t, really. Their work remained unaffected these past few days, and they chatted as easily and amiably as usual. But in the spare moments they found themselves alone, Kurapika found himself full of an antsy frenetic energy.

 _Enough,_ Kurapika ordered himself. _You are being childish and unprofessional and unfair. Get over yourself._

“I finished your suit,” Kurapika announced, his voice oddly loud in the quiet loft. Leorio jumped at the sudden noise. But instead of asking, _hey, what the hell,_ he pocketed his phone and beamed at Kurapika.

“Sweet!” He said. “Can I try it on?”

Oh. Yes. That was what one did with clothes. And considering Kurapika was the one who made the suit, he ought to see the product of his labor and make sure it fit and all. Because Leorio would be wearing it on their show and, presumably, to other events.

“Sure.” Kurapika got to his feet to fetch the suit from his project rack. He wanted to buy time, but there were very few projects taking up space on his docket for the time being. Even his practice pieces were easy enough to move aside for the suit. He handed the hanger to Leorio, who accepted it with a wide grin.

“Be right back!” He called over his shoulder, going into the changing room he had seen nearly a dozen clients use. Kurapika shook his head after him, returning to his perch atop his stool.

“You seem eager,” he observed.

“Never had a tailored suit before!” Leorio half-shouted through the door. “Sue me for being excited! Oh, sunshine, do you want me to put on the whole thing?”

Kurapika frowned, confused. “Yes?”

“Even the tie?”

 _Especially the tie._ Kurapika coughed. “The entire ensemble, please. It’s how I’ll know everything goes together.”

“Fine,” Leorio groaned. A few minutes later, after a few grumbles that were too indistinct to really understand, the door opened again. “Okay, I’m here. Tie and all.”

“Stop whining, Leorio,” Kurapika said, wheeling away from his desk, flipping his pocketbook open to a fresh page so he could take any last-minute notes. “You sound like any of the million children we’ve worked with who do not want to wear their ties.”

“Yeah, well, maybe those million children are right,” Leorio snarked back. Kurapika smiled to himself, looking up at Leorio’s approach. He nearly fell backwards off his seat.

Kurapika’s first thought was, _oh, I am good._

His second thought was, _oh, he looks good._

There was no third thought, because his brain was as blank as if someone had thrown white paint over it.

Because Kurapika abruptly, finally realized that he was in the middle of a Situation rapidly spiraling out of his control.

The Suit hugged the slim lines of Leorio’s body with navy worsted wool, flaunting the length of his legs and the width of his shoulders. The navy was a lovely spot of color that could be easily kept fresh with different accents. The silk vest Kurapika crafted was a deep forest green, embroidered in brown-gold thread that shimmered when Leorio moved. His tie was made of matching silk. In the fading light of the summer evening, he _glowed_ , bronze skin turning to warm, burnished gold. The brown and green vest highlighted the matching, mingling shades in his eyes. The combination was utterly deadly with the way the vest followed the slim line of Leorio’s waist, the sculpted line of his shoulders, the broadness of his chest.

“What do you think?” Leorio asked. He spread his arms and, God help him, gave Kurapika a _twirl_. The unbuttoned jacket flapped open as he moved, the inner sky blue silk lining shining. Completely without his permission, Kurapika eyed the curve of his ass, his chest purring with approval and interest.

What did he _think?_ Kurapika thought about what it would be like to grab Leorio by the lapels or tie and yank to his level for a _searing_ kiss. He thought about the sound Leorio would make if he did that, of the sound of ripping seams as Kurapika yanked the suit off of his body. He thought of the feel of cool silk under his hands, the warmth of Leorio’s skin when he traced every line of that beautiful body with greedy palms. He heard the phantom echo of ivory buttons clattering to the floor, popping one by one as he tugged open that white dress shirt with his _teeth_. He wondered how Leorio might taste as he swallowed every little sound he made, as he trailed his mouth over the line of Leorio’s neck. He thought about how he didn’t think he could wait any longer than that to push Leorio onto his couch to have his wicked, demanding, delicious way with him, until Leorio was as utterly wrecked as the suit Kurapika spent four days making him. And then he wanted to drag Leorio up into his bedroom and do it again and again and _again_ , until they were spent and exhausted. And he knew he would still want more. He could picture every single thing he wanted to do with – and to – Leorio in excruciating, salacious detail.

What did he _think?_ Kurapika thought he wanted to fucking rail his best friend.

As quickly as this _wildfire_ of want raced through Kurapika’s body, so followed the chilling flood of icy panic that almost made him feel sick. Because he _could not_ allow himself to feel this way about Leorio. These were _not_ thoughts he was allowed to entertain, _not_ things he was allowed to want. He split his world neatly down the middle, putting things in boxes labeled _personal_ and _professional._

Kurapika might be going out on a limb here, but he did not think tying Leorio’s hands to his bedpost with that tie would be very _professional_ of him.

And that was just Kurapika thinking about the professional ramifications of this. The personal risks were too great to even consider. This was his friend. His best friend. And if Leorio ever knew Kurapika thought about him like this, everything they worked so hard to build these past several months would crash down around them.

“Sunshine?”

Kurapika jumped slightly. His face flushed with heat, because _of course_ Leorio would use that nickname right now, and of course he would say it like _that_ , sweet and concerned and normal because he was not an adult whose self-control was currently hanging on by a few fraying threads.

“Yes,” Kurapika insisted. He put a smile on his face and got to his feet. “Sorry. I was taking everything in. How does it feel?”

“Great!” Leorio ran a hand down one of the sleeves, then followed the vest’s embroidery with his fingers. Kurapika’s hands literally _burned_ with the desire to trace those patterns, as well. “Maybe a bit snug in the shoulders? But it’s honestly fine. Is it supposed to fit like this?”

“Let me see,” Kurapika said. His blood hummed in his ears. He internally chanted _professional, professional, professional._ Leorio turned around, gracing Kurapika with the view of his broad shoulders tapering into his slim waist. This man should have been a model. The shoulders were a bit snug, but Kurapika could not quite bring himself to mention that as he selfishly drank in the sight of Leorio in front of him, muscles shifting as he made himself comfortable in the suit.

“I can certainly make any changes you like,” Kurapika forced himself to say, “But it is meant to be a touch snug on the shoulders. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Leorio assured him. He peered over his shoulder to look down at Kurapika. The sunset caught on the five o’clock shadow dusting his jaw. Softer, he asked, “I look okay?”

Well. It was probably for the best that Leorio felt he had to ask that, because it meant Kurapika was not actually broadcasting his thoughts of, _yes, you are so beautiful, you are stunning, take all your clothes off and get into my bed rightfuckingnow_ all over his face.

Not that Kurapika did a much better job of hiding it when he caught Leorio’s eye. His voice was much softer than necessary, more open and raw than the conversation called for, when he admitted, “More than okay.”

_Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me._

_Kiss him. Kiss him._

_Run._

Kurapika broke their eye contact. He took a step back. “Anything else?”

They were quiet for a long few moments. Leorio huffed out a short laugh. “I think that’s it! I’ll get changed.”

Kurapika smiled tightly up at him. He waited until Leorio was in the changing room to release a long, shuddering sigh. He sat down on his couch to flip listlessly through his sketchbook, parsing apart old designs. A few minutes later Leorio re-emerged, the suit hanger crooked in his fingers. Kurapika knew what Leorio was about to say before he opened his mouth.

“Hey, I gotta head out,” Leorio said. “I promised my ma I’d be home for dinner, since I’ve missed a few Sundays from work.”

Kurapika’s stomach, if possible, churned even more. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to miss family time –”

“It’s okay,” Leorio interrupted. He smiled down at him. “I knew what I was signing up for. I’ll see you tomorrow, Kurapika. I’ll bring you some cannoli if there are any left over. Night!”

“Good night,” Kurapika echoed, watching Leorio’s back as he left. The door swung shut behind him, the automatic lock latching with a final parting _click_. With a groan, Kurapika closed his eyes and ran his hands through his hair, tugging just past the point of pain. He felt gross and guilty and, oddly, like he could cry. There were a lot of feelings that Kurapika did not want to investigate. So he didn’t.

 _Friday can’t come soon enough,_ Kurapika thought moodily. He flipped his television on to something stupid and mindless and did his best to put any and all impure, unprofessional thoughts of Leorio from his mind.

~

The rest of the week crawled by.

It was like a freak of nature. Because every hour of the day felt immeasurably longer than sixty minutes. Kurapika could have developed a new theory of relativity about time slowing to a near-stop when one was dreading something and just wanted to get it the fuck over with.

Kurapika was nothing if not focused on his best days. But now, he threw himself into his work with a single-minded intensity that put them well ahead of schedule. The menus and seating place cards were printed and ready to go; the ice sculptures ordered; the centerpieces made and taking up a storage room just outside the ballroom; the band playlist confirmed; the security detail for the city’s political elite confirmed. It did not help that this was simply a reception, and not a full wedding, which meant that the work they all needed to put in was already cut in half. With little else to do, Kurapika returned to his loft early in the afternoons to work, endlessly embellishing and adding more little touches to Morel and Knov’s suits. Eventually he made himself stop and put them away, because he was going to start ruining them if he kept going. So he pulled out his sketchbook and pens and started to get ahead on work, designing the wedding outfits for the only couple he could reasonably prepare for.

(Fine, so it _did_ help that he already knew Pairo and Altair, and he knew what they wanted in just about every aspect of their wedding. Because Kurapika was there when they planned most of it out. So Kurapika sat in his apartment, on his couch, drafting up new and innovative ideas of ways to blend mainstream fashion and traditional Kurta ceremonial garments, and the sketches were beautiful, brilliant, and he sketched until his hands were stained in charcoal and pencil to the wrist and he did not think at all.)

Kurapika expanded his current list of projects and designs, because he loved this show, but he also wanted to have something to fall back on in case everything fell apart, because he was in a bit of a pessimistic rut at the moment. The fashion world would be expecting something new and great after his months away, and he ought to have a line ready to hit the runway and glossy magazine spreads.

One afternoon, his phone buzzed with a notification. Leorio had posted a new video to the _Doing It_ channel. This one was about glass and electrical work as Leorio and Pietro met up to make a new sign for his bar. Kurapika set aside his drawing pad and immediately clicked on the video.

(And if Kurapika’s eyes guilty lingered on the muscles of Leorio’s arms and back, the elegant lines of his hands, the sweat on his neck, then at least there was no one present to call him on his shameless ogling.)

Friday finally arrived in a blast of early September air, cool in the morning but blazing hot by afternoon. Gon decided to work from home (read: the Zoldyck living room), considering all he currently needed to do was review and edit footage in his endless backlog. So Kurapika and Leorio just sat in their office completing what last-minute planning they could. But following Kurapika’s recent spurt of productivity, there was not much to do. The office was quiet around them, and Kurapika was too stuck in his own head to determine if it was just him or if Leorio was out of it, too.

Things had felt… off, these past few days. Between them. It was business as usual when Gon or the Zoldycks were around. They tag-teamed Gon and Killua when the latter convinced them to join them for an impromptu game night. They joined Alluka, Nanika, and Kalluto in ganging up on the new couple to tease them into oblivion, to Killua’s invariable blustering flush and Gon’s immutable, incandescent happiness at this relationship development. They were professional with Knov and Morel when they met up for a quick lunch to confirm the last of their wedding plans.

But when they were alone, the air felt different. Heavier. Not tense, not uncomfortable, but something close to it. Expectant.

 _(Charged,_ Kurapika’s overworked, longing mind supplied. But that was definitely not it, and he ignored the stupid lusting voice in the back of his head demanding to be heard and sated.)

Kurapika finally broke after lunch. He ran his fingertip over the outline of a sketch. “Are you alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, of course,” Leorio answered, far too quickly and loudly. He was a terrible liar. Kurapika made himself smile, understanding and kind, even when all he wanted to do was shout. He and Leorio opened their mouths at the same time.

“Leorio – ”

“Kurapika – ”

“Oh, I’m sorry, you go – ”

“No, uh, you spoke first – ”

 _“Really,_ Leorio – ”

“I insist,” Leorio interrupted firmly. His fingers were clenched tightly together in his lap. “Go on. What were you saying?”

Kurapika’s throat worked, his head oddly blank as he tried to remember what he wanted to say. Leorio kept his gaze laser-focused on Kurapika’s face, eyes hard and expression unreadable. All Kurapika wanted to do was cross the room and sit on him and count the flecks of jade in his eyes. He wanted to know if Leorio’s mouth was really as soft as it looked, learn if his laughter tasted like champagne and summer rain like he imagined.

He forced himself to look away. “It’s understandable if you’re nervous for tonight. But so long as you are just yourself, I’ve no doubt that you will have an excellent time. I hope you have a great time and that it goes well.”

Leorio blinked at him. For a moment he looked genuinely startled, like he did not anticipate Kurapika’s encouragement. He opened his mouth to speak. Made no sound. Closed it again. For a wild moment, Kurapika wondered if he had somehow said the wrong thing. But before he could angst about that, as well, Leorio grinned.

“Thanks, Kurapika. That’s nice of you to say.” His smile widened. “‘Specially since I know you’re not a romantic.”

“Oh, ha ha,” Kurapika retorted sarcastically. Strange tension broken, he returned his attention to his designs. “Tell me how it goes. I may not get back to you right away, as Melody has roped me into going out on the town with her tonight. But tomorrow, certainly.”

Silence. Kurapika looked up from his work again. Leorio seemed to realize he waited too long to respond, because he startled slightly as Kurapika frowned at him in confusion.

“Oh, cool! Sorry, I was thinking about tonight. Have a great time!” Leorio did not look like he hoped Kurapika had fun. He looked like he was going in for a root canal. He glanced at his watch. “And I forgot, I need to pick up a few things before tonight. So I’m gonna head out. Have fun, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“Oh – sure?” It was only three-thirty. Kurapika twisted around in his seat to watch Leorio scramble out of the room as quickly as his legs would carry him for the second time that week. “Have a good weekend!”

Leorio’s palm caught on the doorframe as he swept past Kurapika. For a whirlwind moment their eyes met and held, and Kurapika swore he saw _everything_ in those eyes – fondness, fear, anxiety, _heat_. Everything Kurapika wished he could see when he looked at his best friend. But then he blinked, and the moment passed. Everything was back to its usual veneer when Leorio winked down at him and teased, “go get ‘em, tiger,” and vanished.

For a few minutes, Kurapika could only sit and stare at the office door. This time a year ago, such advice would have made him laugh. Kurapika could flirt with the best of them, clever and coy and in control. He could walk into a bar and take his pick of the men lining up for him. He knew the game and he played it well. He danced the dance and he led every time. He loved the thrill of the chase. But only because it didn’t matter.

This time a year ago, Kurapika was only interested in things that did not matter. But now, sitting alone in his office, standing in front of his closet, taking his Lyft downtown, he was only dreading this evening.

Because, Kurapika realized as he stared up at the red neon lights that defined Fortuna as a landmark bar in the Yorknew queer scene, he was tired of things not mattering.

It was this realization that heralded strike two to Kurapika’s realization that he had somehow, in the past six months, lost complete control over his own life.

Because the bar was too crowded, and loud, and Kurapika lost count of how many co-eds in their twenties stepped on his feet as he made his beeline to the back of the room where Melody was, predictably, already holding court. She had two drinks on the table: a neat whiskey for herself, and a rum and coke for Kurapika. He sipped it and almost choked on the sickly sweet flavor of coconut. He used to _love_ coconut rum and cokes. Now he wanted to pour it down the sink or pass it off to one of the college kids stepping on the backs of his heels.

He tried to have a conversation with Melody, but he had to shout himself hoarse just to be heard. They went to dance, but Kurapika did not have any idea what the music was, and the DJ was awful, and people kept trying to _touch him,_ his hips and back, catching his arms, and he was positive his toes were at least bruised from people stepping on them. He was _this close_ to just decking the next person to slosh their drink down his back. He was too warm, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead and neck and his light button-up suctioning to his back. The drinks were overpriced and not nearly as good as Kalluto’s, and, holy shit, Kurapika realized all of a sudden, he was _old_ now.

Melody had a posse of three women hanging around her now, and Kurapika meandered over to the bar to give her time to work her magic and have fun. He felt her eyes on the back of his head, unimpressed silvery gaze taking in the stiff set of his shoulders and jaw. She had not commented on his terrible mood all night, but Kurapika sensed a lecture in his very near future. He huffed irritably as the minutes ticked on and pulled out his phone. He had no notifications, because why would he? Pairo and Altair were working, as were the Zoldycks; Gon and Killua were making the most of their date night, their honeymoon phase still in full force; and Leorio…

Kurapika pulled up Twitter and clicked on some article about Mayor Netero’s newest bullshit policy. Finally, a bartender noticed him standing there and sent him a nod. “What can I get you?”

“A long island.” The music was so loud Kurapika had to repeat himself twice. He could already feel his ears ringing. This had to be hell.

And then strike two blazed past him. The Bar.

A warm presence appeared at Kurapika’s side. He smelled sweat and alcohol and cheap, sugary cologne. In a voice this flirt probably deemed sultry but that just came across as completely affected, he said, “Hey, hot stuff. I lost my number. Can I get yours?”

Kurapika could not even _bother_ to consider him. This interloper did not even look old enough to _drink_ , let alone hit on him with such confidence and a cheesy, outdated pick-up line. The bartender dropped off his drink, so he sent them a nod and tucked a respectable tip into the jar. Sighing like the irritable little asshole he was, Kurapika dismissed them with a curt, “then get back in line,” and stomped off into the crowd.

Melody had both her brows raised as he approached. With a sigh, she gently stepped away from her potential paramour(s?) and indicated for him to take at seat at their two-top in the shadowy back corner.

“Okay, Kurapika,” she demanded. “I’ve been patient with your shitty attitude long enough this evening. But now it’s affecting other people’s fun and _my_ chances of getting some. _What_ is going on with you?”

“Nothing!” Kurapika snapped. He threw back his drink, splashing some onto his front in his aggression. Which only made Melody’s brows creep higher, a thoroughly _done_ expression on her face as she watched him irritably wipe at his collar with a cocktail napkin.

“Clearly,” she agreed dryly.

Kurapika sighed, long and hard. He supposed he did deserve that sarcastic dig. He lay his head back against the sticky wall, too irritated and miserable to even grimace. “I apologize, Melody. It seems I am not fit company tonight. I’ll close out my tab and take a cab home. I wish you luck in your conquests. Brunch tomorrow?”

Melody sent him an acerbic little salute. “Thanks. Sounds good. Delia’s, eleven?”

“Works for me.”

“Excellent.” She lowered her hand to the table, swirling her whiskey in her glass. But instead of sipping her drink, Melody only studied Kurapika with those clear, bright eyes of hers.

 _“What?”_ Kurapika demanded waspishly.

Melody scoffed. “I can’t tell if you’re being a pissy asshole on purpose, or if you’re _actually_ this emotionally constipated.”

Kurapika felt his lip curl in irritation. “Please, Melody. I am not in the mood tonight.”

Melody snorted and sipped her drink. “So it’s the latter, then. Kurapika. I am going to tell you this as your closest friend, and I would be remiss if I didn’t try to help you remove your beautiful head from your ass. You are miserable because you are _horny_ and _pining_. God, you work _weddings_ now! I’d think you could recognize this!”

“I am not!” Kurapika cried. _Horny_ he would accept. _Pining_ he would not. Because _horny_ was just a general problem, one that could be easily dealt with (or… not so easily, considering the past week). _Pining_ was unthinkable. Because pining had a direction. A direction and feelings and a name. No, he refused. Work was work and personal was personal and they did not cross-contaminate, never, never, never.

“Mm-hmm,” Melody hummed, her judgmental tone louder than even the pounding bass. “Before you write off my excellent advice, answer this question for me. I’m genuinely curious. How much of this evening have you spent thinking about how much you would prefer to be with Leorio?”

Kurapika’s mouth snapped open to retort irritably. Melody glared at him as if to say, _if you attempt to argue about this with me, your manager and second-oldest friend, I will kill you where you stand before you can say Gucci._

So he closed it, forcing himself to stop being a tipsy, petulant bastard and actually _think_. 

He knew he hadn’t wanted to come out tonight. Yet there was that _buzzing_ in his skin that spoke of a hunger that he knew he wasn’t going to be able to satisfy on his own. But no one here appealed to him. No one even made him look twice. Indeed, even those who tried to chat him up were immediately and rudely rebuffed.

Now that he stopped and thought about it? Honestly? There was literally nowhere else in the world that Kurapika wanted to be except at home, in his quiet apartment, hanging out with Leorio over takeout. Joking about bad TV or getting too into whatever ridiculous medical drama they were obsessively binging that week. His shoulders wrapped up in his favorite throw blanket, sketchbook on his knees, toes tucked under Leorio’s thighs because he was warm and Kurapika refused to wear socks.

There was no one in the entire world Kurapika wanted to be with that night except Leorio, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Because Kurapika was here, trying and failing to get laid while his best friend whose brains he _definitely didn’t want to screw out of his head_ was out on a blind date elsewhere in the city.

Because there was no one else who made Kurapika’s loft feel like _home_.

Strike three whizzed past Kurapika’s head, and his eyes went wide.

“Holy _shit,”_ he exclaimed.

Melody sipped her whiskey. “Mm-hmm.”

Kurapika stared at her. She seemed remarkably calm, which was just _offensive_ , because Kurapika felt like his entire brain was imploding in on itself. “I like Leorio.”

“I know, dear,” Melody assured him. “I promise, you are the _last_ to know. Well,” she amended, “second last. I only met the man once, but I am positive Leorio has no idea.”

Kurapika did not directly respond. “Like. _Like_ like him.”

“Are we twelve?” Melody scoffed. “Want to invite him to the spring fling?”

He ignored her, downing half of his long island iced tea as if the drink would somehow change his mind. He slammed his empty glass on the table, staring at Melody. The woman looked like she was praying for patience and a million dollars.

“I’m into him,” he breathed. A million mental images ran through his head all at once, a million moments running together to create the incandescent mosaic that was _Leorio_ , beautiful and brash and frustrating and funny and Kurapika’s best friend. “I am _so into_ him.”

Melody sighed and finished her drink. “I know, honey.” She eyed Kurapika over the rim of her glass. Her eyes were hard and unyielding and amused but endlessly _kind_. “Now the question is: what are you going to do about it?”

Kurapika felt his dawning smile fade as quickly as it came. The heady rush of joy that he felt at the realization, the relief of finally putting a name to the feelings clogging up his chest, twisted into sickly panic and icy horror. Because, oh _no_ , how could this have happened? How could Kurapika have done this? How was he so stupid? How could he have been so _unprofessional_ to fall for his work partner? How could he have been so _careless_ and _inconsiderate_ and _selfish_ to fall for his _best friend?_

Ugh, he was so _fucked._

And now what? What the fuck was he supposed to do now? His first thought was to shave his head, burn down his apartment, and herd goats in the mountains. But he hated manual labor. More importantly, he was still under contract. Kurapika did not want to think about the legal nightmare his life would become if he broke his Netflix contract. Bankrupting the company would be the least of his worries (but maybe Morena would help him out? After she and Theta finished laughing at him, that is).

It figured that Kurapika would finally work out how he felt for Leorio right as the man was undoubtedly sweeping a faceless stranger off their feet.

No, Kurapika was allowed maybe thirty seconds to bask in the glow of his giant fucking crush on his best friend, thirty seconds to maybe-almost imagine a reality where it was possible to do anything about it, and now he got to start the long, embarrassing process of getting over him, because there was no way he was ever getting _under_ him.

Kurapika whined, pressing the heels of his hands over his eyes.

God, this night _sucked._

“It’s a crush, darling,” Melody teased him out of his spiraling thoughts. “It’s not the end of the world. You can tell him, or not. But this is only as bad as you make it.” Her foot nudged against his ankle under the table. “So don’t panic. Breathe. And trust it will be okay.”

 _Trust it will be okay._ Kurapika had never trusted the whims of the universe in his life, and he would not start now.

“I will leave you to your night, then,” Kurapika assured her. “I’ll settle my tab and see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Melody.”

Melody blew him a kiss as he hopped off his stool and paid his bill. He also put the rest of Melody’s drinks on his card, as well, as a thank-you and apology for her patience with him this evening. Once he was finally outside, Kurapika sighed heavily. The air was cool, but he was plenty warm in his light jacket once he zipped it up. He scowled down at his phone, watching the tiny animation of his Lyft making yet another wrong turn.

Without thinking, Kurapika tabbed over to his messaging app. The cold and impersonal contact designation titled _Leorio Paladiknight_ mocked him for being a stupid, emotionally repressed bastard. He studied the most recent message in their chat history. It was dated a few days ago, Leorio confirming they had booked the band Morel wanted. They had not texted since, because they were always together.

Every cell in Kurapika’s body froze as three dots suddenly appeared on Leorio’s end.

Hurriedly, he triple-checked that he had not accidentally sent Leorio any messages, emojis, or that article he’d been reading at the bar. But there was nothing. No, Leorio had simply decided to pull out his phone and text him at 11:30 right as Kurapika was staring at his contact on his phone. There was something surreal and _Gatsby_ -esque about the entire situation.

Kurapika watched, breath suspended in his chest, as the dots vanished. Started again. Stopped. Started.

Stopped.

And did not start again.

Kurapika stared at his phone until his Lyft pulled up beside him. He mechanically confirmed his address to the driver, and he spent the drive home staring sightlessly out the window.

~

_**Kurapika, 12:58am  
**Pairo, I think I like Leorio_

_**Pairo, 8:35am**  
yeah Pika i know lmao  
wait you’re serious_

_**Kurapika, 8:42am**  
yes._

_**INCOMING CALL FROM: PAIRO** _

~

_**Kurapika, 9:47am  
**$147?!?!?!?!?!!!_

_**Melody, 10:17am**  
I can explain._

_**CALLING: MELODY SENRITSU** _

~

“You can do this.”

Kurapika scowled at his reflection in the mirror. His reflection did not respond to him. Because it was a reflection, and Kurapika was back to giving himself morning pep-talks to quell his anxiety, apparently. He jabbed at his own face in the mirror, fingernail clacking against the surface.

“You are a three-time featured designer of Yorknew Fashion Week. You are a member of Vogue’s _Thirty Designers Under Thirty To Watch For_ list. You were _The Queer Network’s_ Trailblazer of the Year. You’ve designed for actors and designers and awards shows.”

Listing his numerous accolades was not helping. Scowling, Kurapika decided to change tracks.

“You are a professional more than you are a stupid, foolish, gay disaster man, and you are _not_ going to _fuck this up.”_ Not his work, not his wedding planning, not his friendship with Leorio, not his contract. “Are we clear?”

Kurapika’s reflection, again, did not answer him. Because it was, again, his reflection.

He nodded at himself, hands on his hips. “That’s what I thought.”

This was why he didn’t _do_ crushes. Feelings. Deep emotions. Because he turned into a loser talking to himself in the bathroom mirror on a Monday morning.

Maybe, if Kurapika was _very_ lucky and prayed _very_ hard, his subway car would derail and he would die a quick and painless death on his way to work and never, ever need to actually see Leorio and come to terms with his dead-end feelings.

 _(“Kurapika, I’m going to need you to be about eighty percent less dramatic about this,”_ Pairo had said to Kurapika during their Saturday morning phone call.

“I have a crush on my best friend,” Kurapika reminded him for the eighth time. “I will be as dramatic as I goddamn please.”

_“Okay, but I reserve the right to demand compensation for it. Dinner tonight?”_

“Absolutely. See you then.”)

Tragically, Kurapika did not die on his way to work. He arrived perfectly well, if a great deal less sane than he was when he left on Friday, his navy button-up neatly pressed and iced coffee sweating in his clammy hands. And he was so lucky as to have an entire hour alone in the office, internally whipping himself up into a minor cardiac event. This was a great chance to review his _Wedding Week-Of_ checklist, like he did every Monday before a wedding. There was something soothing about the repetitive ritual of triple-checking that everything was accounted for. This was great. This was fun. This was wonderful. Kurapika was having such a nice, normal time this Monday morning, sitting alone in his office.

The door opened at eight-thirty, a full half hour than it usually did, and Kurapika jumped violently enough he spilled his coffee all over the table.

 _“Shitfuckdammit!”_ Kurapika yelped, leaping to his feet as a wave of cold brew sloshed over the table.

“Wha – oh, shit – ” And then there was Leorio, because of course it was, setting down what looked like a box of donuts and grabbing at the tissue box to mop up the mess. “You okay, Kurapika?”

“Fine,” Kurapika said, flustered and embarrassed. He avoided Leorio’s gaze as he snatched tissues and started wiping off the table. Leorio helped by quickly picking up Kurapika’s notebooks and moving them safely out of harm’s way to the coffee table, because he was just _so nice_ Kurapika could have cried. But he was spared from saying anything by Leorio’s rambling apology.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, I just had an early morning and thought I’d bring in some donuts for Gon and you, and that place up on thirty-ninth _just_ took the cream-filled ones when I walked in, so they’re fresh, and I’m calling one of the two, but anyway, Kurapika, I’m _so sorry_ , did I mess anything up?”

“Mess anything up?” Kurapika was on the floor soaking up the last of the coffee dregs with the tissues, so Leorio fortunately missed the expression on his face.

“Your notes?” Leorio amended helpfully. “I’m so sorry, sunshine, really.”

 _Sunshine._ The word made Kurapika feel like he had a small star blazing in the middle of his chest. Like he was that star, himself. It also made him feel like he could cry right there in the office, because how was he ever going to keep these feelings a secret? Why would he _want_ to? How was he ever going to get over Leorio if he was always and forever _like that?_

 _Professional,_ Kurapika reminded himself. _You are a professional. You are at work. Put on your big-boy face and suck it the fuck up._

Which was why Kurapika was smiling like normal when he finally rose back to his feet, his hands full of soggy napkins. Patiently, he assured, “Leorio. It’s alright. It was just an accident. These things happen.”

Leorio frowned at him, his expression dubious. Kurapika’s eyes trailed over the worried crease between his eyes, the jut of his lower lip, the way his maroon shirt clung to his shoulders. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I am,” Kurapika insisted. “No harm done.”

“Okay,” Leorio said. He ran a hand through his hair. The dark strands contrasting with his tanned skin made Kurapika’s palms itch with the desire to _touch_. “Well, at least let me get you a coffee to replace it. I _insist,”_ he added, cutting off Kurapika’s refusal before he could even open his mouth.

It wasn’t even nine in the morning and Kurapika was already _exhausted_. But Leorio’s needless guilt and effort to help was hopelessly endearing, and he really needed coffee to get through this work day, so he shook his head without even trying to stifle his fond smile. “Fine. Go ahead. You know what I like.”

“Ha, yep,” Leorio said. He sent Kurapika a thumbs up. “That’s me. I will be right back. With coffee. The caramel cloud one. Okay. Be right back.”

Kurapika watched him go, shaking his head at that fool man’s antics. The back of his neck was the same color as his shirt.

Gon arrived a few minutes later, bobbing his head to his music and sipping a green juice smoothie. He pulled out an earbud. “Morning, Kurapika! Did you bring in the donuts?” He reached into the box and pulled out a pink frosted one.

“Leorio did,” Kurapika said, shaking his head. “How was your weekend?”

“It was really good!” Gon chirped. “Killua and I went to the farmer’s market out in the country together. They’re thinking of setting up a table there to sell baked goods and jams and Kalluto’s homemade wine.”

“Kalluto makes wine?” Kurapika asked, head perking up. This was news.

“Yeah!” Gon laughed. “But be careful. They’re still working out the chemistry of the whole flavor-to-alcohol content thing. I had two glasses because it tasted just like juice, so we thought it was a bad batch.”

Oh dear. “And what happened instead?”

“I was on the floor twenty minutes later,” Gon told him with a grin. Kurapika laughed aloud as Leorio arrived with their coffees.

“Partying without me?” He asked, handing Kurapika his cup. The outer rim read _sunshine_ , and Kurapika did not swoon, but it was a near thing.

They settled in for their day, Gon pulling up footage on his computer, Kurapika and Leorio making final calls confirming transportation and the band for Friday’s celebration. And for the most part, things were normal. But an anxious hum buzzed beneath Kurapika’s skin, an electric current of unasked questions demanding to be asked, painful curiosities demanding to be sated, because anything was better than not knowing.

(And what did it mean, that Leorio had not said anything about it? Should he ask? Should he not? Would it be worse to ask, to possibly pour salt on a fresh cut? Or would it be worse to hit a landmine and be forced to listen to his lovely, heartfelt friend tell him all about his date?)

 _Breathe. And trust it will be okay._ Melody’s words echoed in his head. And as daunting the thought of trusting something as indifferent and cold and capricious as the universe was, Melody had never steered him wrong before.

Kurapika took a long sip of his coffee like he was injured in war and waiting for a medic to come saw off his limbs. He made himself ask, “How was your date?”

And maybe Kurapika was going to hell after all, because it had to be a sin to feel the head-to-toe rush of _relief_ he did when Leorio looked up from his computer, blinking as his eyes adjusted, and asked, “What date?”

Kurapika stared at him, carefully expressionless. He prompted, “The blind date? On Friday?” _The one I spent the last week angsting over? The one that finally made me realize that the Feelings I had for you were not platonic?_

“Oh!” Leorio slapped his forehead with a groan. “That! Oh, man, I must look like such a douchebag right now.”

“A bit,” Kurapika teased. For the first time since last week, he felt his smile actually reach his eyes.

Leorio groaned. “I can explain, I swear. Okay, so I went to Café Tramonto with Elena, was on time and everything, brought the flowers – thank you, Gon, though I swear I _know_ how to go on a date and be a gentleman, and it only hurts a _little_ that you and Killua and Kalluto and Lita and my mother felt the need to text me all that advice – ” Their camera man nodded, drinking in the praise and ignoring everything else. “ – But Elena pretty much told me right away that she just got out of a relationship – with a _right_ piece of work, by the way, you won’t believe what a prick this guy was, I’m _this close_ to asking Nanika to track him down so I can slash his tires – anyway!” Leorio puffed out a sigh. “Basically Carmelita was meddling with her as well, trying to set her up with the first halfway decent guy she looked at, and Elena just finally gave in like I did because Lita’s used to getting her way. She told me she wasn’t interested in anything but dinner before the drinks arrived.”

“Oh,” Kurapika said. His insides were currently doing eager backflips. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”

(And he _was_. He wanted Leorio to be happy. Because they were friends. Regardless of who that was with.)

“Nah, I’m not.” Leorio brushed off his supportive words. “Thanks, though. That took a lot of pressure off, to be honest, because I felt much better telling her I also was not interested in pursuing anything.”

“That so, Leorio?” Gon asked. He smiled beatifically at him, chin propped in his hand. “You’re not interested in anyone? At all?”

There was a very long, pregnant silence in the room. Leorio sipped his coffee. His ears were slowly turning red when he looked out the window to take in the sunny skyline through the skyscraper window. “She was nice. Just… not what I’m looking for, I guess.” He looked back at Kurapika. “How was the club? Anything fun happen?”

Kurapika ducked his head and peered down at his book. “It was alright. Just not what I was looking for, either, I think.”

As he spoke, Leorio had been peering out the window. But as he finished his thought, Leorio swiveled his head around to meet his gaze. His eyes were wide, like he was looking for an answer in Kurapika’s face that he wasn’t sure how to ask. But then he grinned, wide and happy, and Kurapika realized that this was also the first time Leorio’s smile met his eyes for a week, as well. His date must have weighed heavier on him than Kurapika thought.

Between them, Gon smirked into his smoothie and texted Killua under the table.

~

Because Knov and Morel were already married, Kurapika decided to relax his “wedding parties do not see the outfits” rule. Knov and Morel attended their final fitting the day right before the reception, finally skittering into his loft over an hour late after rescheduling four separate times. Normally, such a last-minute arrangement would have sent his anxiety skyrocketing (to be fair, Kurapika _was_ incredibly jittery with this down-to-the-wire arrangement), but the couple had good reason. While closing out their cases in preparation for their three-week honeymoon, the pieces of a recent string of burglaries came together, and they needed to work overtime for almost the entire week to apprehend their suspects. And now, with Yorknew’s streets safer and their docket finally cleared in preparation for their time away, Knov and Morel could truly relax and enjoy their reception.

(Also, Leorio settled his fingertips over Kurapika’s knee every time it started bouncing so rapidly he shook the table, and that was… very nice of him.)

But now all was well, because Knov and Morel were bounding into Kurapika’s loft, bearing “thank-you-for-you-patience” pizzas, their attitudes positively buoyant. 

“Is this DiMaggio’s?” Leorio asked, leaning over the pizza box and inhaling deeply. Morel’s laugh boomed against the windows.

“Yeah, it is! Good nose. You’ve had it?”

“All my life,” Leorio said. He seamlessly accepted the plates Kurapika handed him and started handing out slices. “I went to school with DiMaggio Junior, though he was a couple years ahead of me.”

“No kidding!” Morel cried. He accepted the plate Knov handed him without even needing to look. “Thanks, love. You’re a local, too?”

“Dockside District.” Leorio puffed out his chest proudly and passed a slice to Gon. “Born and raised.”

“No fuckin’ way! I’m from Factoryside,” Morel said, referring to the manufacturing area of the city. He held out a hand to Leorio to shake. “Local kids making it work. I respect that.”

Leorio went pink around his ears, looking pleased. He accepted Morel’s hand. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

Kurapika smiled into his plate. Leorio always seemed so genuinely flustered when praised for all of the hard work he put into getting to where he was now. It was as frustrating as it was endearing, because Kurapika could not imagine anyone looking at Leorio and not seeing a brilliant, dedicated, driven man who worked day and night to earn the success he enjoyed now.

“Kurapika, what the _fuck_ are you doing?”

However, that did not mean that Leorio was not also a massive pain in the ass.

Sighing, Kurapika looked up from his food, eyes sweeping over the others in the room. Gon and Knov looked amused; Morel aghast; Leorio downright insulted, pointed accusingly at the knife and fork in Kurapika’s hands.

“I am eating dinner,” Kurapika said. “Thank you again, Morel.”

“I’m regretting it now, to be honest,” Morel joked weakly.

“Yeah, I see that,” Leorio cried. “But with a _knife and fork?”_

“Yes?” Kurapika lifted an eyebrow. “It’s delicious. It’s also a full pound of cheese, sauce, and grease. I don’t want to get my hands dirty when I’m doing the final fitting.”

“Then _wash your hands.”_

“I will,” Kurapika argued. He set down his cutlery. “I _also_ just don’t want to get my hands all greasy.”

“You eat other pizza with your hands.”

“‘Other pizza’ is not two inches thick and leaking grease onto my coffee table.”

“It’s not. I put down a hand towel.”

“The blue one?”

“What am I, an animal? No. The green one that you have on the stove _specifically for messes,_ Kurapika, I’ve been here long enough to know you sort your towels by _use_ , which I still think is ridiculous, by the way, because all towels are meant to be used – ”

“There is a degree of mess and I am not having this argument again.”

“Good, because we’re supposed to be arguing about the offense to my culture you’re currently perpetrating using _a fork and knife_ on a _DiMaggio’s deep dish,_ God, it’s like I don’t even know you – ”

“Oh my God, _fine_ , you are _so dramatic.”_ Kurapika threw down his fork and picked up the slice of pizza. It was _heavy_ , doughy and greasy and sauce was already dribbling down onto the plate. Still, he took a massive bite, glaring at Leorio, who was so clearly trying not to laugh. Kurapika felt his lips twitching and knew he was not faring much better. Primly wiping his mouth and hands with a napkin, he asked, “Happy?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

_“Good.”_

For another moment, they glowered at one another. Then Kurapika’s mask cracked, laughing from his chest as the cold, anxious panic that gripped him the past few days finally loosened. They were fine. Leorio was here in all his glory, sitting next to him on his couch, flannel button-up open over his v-neck tee, smiling at him and his dimple creasing.

Kurapika would never get to press his mouth to that dimple, but that was okay. Leorio was his best friend. Kurapika knew they could get through anything together, even something as silly as his own stupid crush.

Their stalemate broke with the sound of Morel’s loud laugh. “You two are _hilarious_ together. How long have you been dating?”

Kurapika jerked his head away from Leorio’s like his face burned him. _Be cool, be normal, don’t freak out._ “Oh, we, ah – we –”

“We’re not – ”

“We’re not dating,” Kurapika finished for Leorio. His smile felt tight on his own face.

“They get that a lot,” Gon unhelpfully shared in between bites of his pizza. Kurapika did not cut him with a glare, but it was a close thing.

“Yep,” Leorio agreed. “But we are friends! And work colleagues.” He swiped his napkin over his mouth. “And speaking of work! Are you ready for the fitting?”

They were. Knov volunteered to go first, leaving Morel and Leorio to share their stories about growing up in the labor districts. Every other sentence was punctuated with something along the lines of “you gotta meet my friend, he’ll be at the party tomorrow” and “you gotta meet this guy, he’s always at my friend’s bar, you can’t miss him.” Which was excellent, because Kurapika’s heart was still pounding uncomfortably against his throat when he handed Knov the final version of the suit. His palms sweat in anticipation as Knov stepped into the changing room to try it on.

But Kurapika needn’t have worried; a few minutes later, Knov returned fully dressed to step onto the design podium. Morel cut off his own rambling anecdote to send a wolf-whistle his husband’s way.

“Damn, Knov, you look like a million bucks,” Morel praised. The crow’s feet around his eyes twisted up into crinkling laugh lines as he smiled, an expression so much more tender than his usual glowing grins and booming laughs. He practically had stars in his eyes as he watched Knov move in his silk suit, every elegant line of his tall, lean body on perfectly tailored display. The material was a deep wine red that played up Knov’s pale skin tone, the charcoal-colored vest embroidered with swirls of silver. His tie was made of matching deep gray silk, as well.

“You are indeed a master, Kurapika,” Knov complimented, turning this way and that to look at himself in the mirror. “Usually you can’t tell whether I’m walking forwards or backwards. You actually solved that problem for me.”

Kurapika stifled a snort behind his hand. “It really was not so difficult. Every body has something that makes it beautiful; the clothes only help accentuate that.”

“And thank goodness you found that, because we all know it’s not my ass,” Knov said dryly. “It feels excellent, Kurapika. I could wear this home now.”

“How about a garment bag instead?” Kurapika offered.

Knov inclined his head slightly. “Deal.”

Morel went next. His suit jacket was still not _quite_ finished, between Kurapika finishing his much more detailed jacket embroidery and Kurapika being absolutely positive he had the shoulder measurements wrong, because there was _no way_ Morel was actually that broad. Except he _was_ , apparently, because the tux jacket pulled a bit at the wide swell of his torso. Kurapika mentally did the math and realized that he was going to be awake until at least three o’clock in the morning getting everything finished.

 _It’s all for the client,_ Kurapika reminded himself as Morel did a little ballerina twirl like he was much smaller than he was. But he was beaming ear-to-ear as he did so, looking positively giddy as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. His pants were black, but his jacket gray to match his hair. The same silver thread on Knov’s vest covered the entirety of the jacket, creating swooping designs that looked like curls of smoke. His tie was a burgundy to match Knov’s suit.

“Oh, my word,” Knov muttered under his breath, one long-fingered hand pressing against his chest. Which was one of the more flattering things Kurapika had heard about his designs, and he tried his utmost not to preen openly. Morel did not help his husband’s flustered state when he caught his lingering gaze in the mirror, sending him a mischievous wink that made Knov flush scarlet. He looked away and nervously adjusted his glasses.

“How does it feel?” Kurapika asked Morel politely. “Comfortable? Too snug anywhere? Too loose?”

“A bit tight in the shoulders,” Morel chortled. “But otherwise, everything fits like a dream.”

Kurapika nodded, one hand going to his chin thoughtfully. He could send Morel home with all but the jacket tonight. It was just past seven, which meant that if he downed an energy drink now, he would be up until two at the earliest. He could stretch that to three or four if he absolutely needed to. Then he could sleep until seven, getting in two full REM cycles, and then shower, and if he was at the office by eight or eight-thirty, he could finish getting everything ready, and then he could swing by Palm’s, and then be at the ballroom by ten-thirty to help set up, and somewhere in there he would certainly eat and get dressed and set everything up and –

It was going to be a very long next thirty-six hours, wasn’t it?

Their meeting broke up a few minutes later, with Morel changing back into his day clothes and carrying his and Knov’s garment bags over his shoulder. Gon left to start his drive out to the Zoldycks, where he was staying the night to help Killua put the finishing touches on the cake and cupcake tower. Kurapika went to start cleaning up his apartment, but his progress was halted by Leorio’s hands latching onto his shoulders. With a squawk, Kurapika found himself being turned around and steered to his sewing station. Leorio pushed him onto his rolling stool, gently enough the wheels did not even move.

“I got the mess,” Leorio said easily. “And I’ll coordinate picking up the things we need from Palm with Kalluto when they drive up. And I’ll meet the manager at the ballroom tomorrow to get everything squared away.”

“But the band – ”

“Arrives at five to set up.”

“And the catering – ”

“Three. Killua and Gon should be there at four. I already have a reminder in my phone to call them at noon to get their asses in gear.”

“The security – ”

“Is sweeping the room at six, after which they will be at the front, back, and side doors all night.” Leorio crossed his hands over his chest. “Kurapika. I got it. I know you’re going to be up all night getting this done. You don’t need to spend the day running yourself ragged, too. I can do both our jobs while I’m there getting everything ready.”

“And what am I doing in this scenario?” Kurapika demanded, mirroring Leorio’s position and glaring up at him.

“I’m guessing pulling an all-nighter finishing Morel’s suit. Or at least sewing until three or four. And then waking up at your normal hour, arriving at your normal time, and expecting yourself to perform at your usual capacity while ingesting _horrifying_ amounts of caffeine. Am I getting warm, sunshine?”

Kurapika scowled up at him, his chin set. Sidestepping the completely accurate prediction completely, he snapped, “I’m not a child, Leorio. I can take care of myself.”

“You’re not,” Leorio agreed easily. There was a glint in his eye that matched his deceptively calm voice and smooth smile. “But you _are_ my workaholic show partner with a tendency to burn the candle at both ends. I would be a poor coworker and a worse friend if I didn’t remind you that you’re not alone. You can trust me.”

“I do trust you,” Kurapika insisted. “I don’t want to slack off.”

“I wish you would slack off _more,_ honestly,” Leorio said. “But no one who has ever met you would accuse you of slacking off, like, ever. But I can handle it. And if I can’t, I’ll call you, or I’ll enlist Kalluto’s help. We all know the kid could run their own event planning business if they wanted.”

Kurapika laughed softly. “That’s true enough.”

Leorio hummed out an agreement. Then, catching Kurapika’s eye, he leaned over just enough that Kurapika needed to arch his back to meet his eyes. In that same honey-sweet, endlessly patient voice, Leorio went on, “So. _Rest_. If I see you before noon tomorrow, I am going to throw you over my shoulder, carry you back here, tie you down, and _make_ you. You’re not at your best if you’re exhausted. And we agree our clients deserve your best, right?”

And what the hell was Kurapika supposed to say to that speech? _I would LOVE that, actually? Promise? What the fuck is this act? I never thought I’d be into something like this but we are both learning a lot from working together, aren’t we?_

Kurapika swallowed thickly. Leorio’s gaze flickered down to watch his throat work before returning to his eyes. He felt breathless, but his voice was mercifully steady when he agreed, “Right.”

It was almost painful to maintain Leorio’s intense gaze. Kurapika’s blood boiled under his skin, hungering for _anything_ , to reach out and touch, to _be_ touched, to feel and taste, to lose himself in that body as thoroughly as he was already lost in Leorio’s hazel eyes and gentle, glowing smile.

Leorio finally withdrew from his looming position. He nodded once. “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Kurapika watched mutely as Leorio finished tossing the rest of the plates and the empty box into the trash can. With a grin and a wave, he bid Kurapika goodnight and left. Only when he was alone did Kurapika finally release a long, rattling breath. He realized his shaking hands were gripping his seat hard enough to pinch half-moon shapes into the pleather material. The apartment felt like it was a billion degrees. He felt hot and tense and _hungry_.

“Holy _shit,”_ Kurapika breathed, releasing the words long and slow.

He did not even need an energy drink to keep himself awake as he whirled around and started his last leg of embroidering Morel’s jacket.

~

Walking into the Roseview Ballroom was like stepping back in time. Everything was soft yellow lights, flowing champagne, loud big band music, red and gold accents, noise and laughter. Despite his late night, Kurapika found himself feeling well-rested. True to his promise to Leorio, he slept in until ten o’clock, getting a respectable six hours of sleep, and then he dropped the jacket off at Morel and Knov’s apartment where the two men were relaxing all day until the reception.

When he arrived in the ballroom, it was to see everything running as smoothly as a well-oiled machine, Leorio and Kalluto in the middle of the storm of activity like two calm, poised eyes. Leorio wore his new suit, almost giving Kurapika a heart attack, and Kalluto wore a black, belted flapper dress patterned with pink sequins, a white feathered headband in their hair. Kurapika slowly approached them, smoothing his hands down the front of his slim-fitting, deep gray suit, complete with silver cufflinks and a maroon tie. He wore his favorite ruby red earring. He caught Leorio’s eye as he approached. The man said something to Kalluto, and they nodded once before walking away.

A part of Kurapika feared that they might find themselves on unsure footing, not sure how to talk to one another following their intense exchange the previous evening. But Leorio trusted Kurapika knew how to handle himself, which he did, so he only updated Kurapika on how the morning went and let him reclaim his position as head bitch in charge.

Receptions were becoming old hat to Kurapika and Leorio. The afternoon flew by into early evening, hours of controlled chaos creating a party the likes of which Kurapika was positive this ballroom had not seen since the twenties proper. And now the room was full to bursting. The low lighting simultaneously sharpened and softened people’s features. Kalluto, Killua, and Gon each took turns on the dance floor with Alluka and Nanika. The twins even managed to convince Leorio and Kurapika to lead them in a few dances on the grand ballroom floor (though Leorio required much less prompting than Kurapika did). But Kurapika led the young women on a series of dances around the floor that left him winded and laughing from his stomach.

Now, Kurapika stood back to admire their hard work. He held a glass of champagne in his hands to give his fiddling fingers something to do. After some time, Knov finally approached him. There was a cream-colored envelope in his hands.

“A thank you,” Knov said, gently pressing the card into Kurapika’s hand and curling the younger man’s fingers over the heavy card stock, not allowing him to say no. “It’s not a gift. But you, Leorio, and the rest of your team deserve at least a note from Morel and me after these hectic past few weeks. Please, accept this.”

Kurapika turned the card stock over in his hands. The address read _To the Light of my Life Team, from Knov and Morel_ in beautiful, swooping calligraphy.

“Thank you,” he said, softly but with feeling. “This is truly very kind of you. I’ve no doubt Leorio and the others will appreciate this gesture.”

Knov hummed thoughtfully. He stood beside Kurapika for a few minutes to take in the party. As they watched, Gon dipped Killua low enough he almost tipped upside down, his hair almost brushing the glossy floors. Morel looped Leorio into a meet-and-greet with his childhood friends from Factoryside, and the rambunctious welcome seemed to have gone miles towards making Leorio more comfortable at this enormous event full of Very Important People. As he watched, Leorio said something to the large group that made the men explode into laughter, featuring a great deal of guffaws and back-thumping and toasts. Leorio grinned, looking pleased, if a bit overwhelmed, and toasted to the newly wedded pair’s health and happiness with the group. As he lowered his glass, Leorio caught Kurapika’s eye. He sent him a brief smile before he was tugged back into the conversation.

“So you two get that a lot, hm?” Knov’s carefully placid voice interrupted Kurapika’s staring. He jumped, feeling guilty for being caught, but Knov simply waited patiently for him to reply. From the way he quietly took in the scene before him, it was clear he was not going to make Kurapika talk if he did not want to. He felt a rush of affection and appreciation for the older man.

“Yes…” Kurapika hummed. He did not speak for a few minutes, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. It would not be very professional of him to ask the questions currently beating against his skull. Nor would it be subtle, because Knov would know right away exactly who and what Kurapika was asking about. But Knov was no longer his client, what this the reception slowly winding down around them, and the older man’s refusal to push actually made him feel comfortable enough to start with, “Knov, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” Knov said with a short incline of his head. Kurapika looked down into his glass, watching the bubbles float to the surface of the crystal glass.

Slowly, trying to put his thoughts in some semblance of order, he asked, “How did you react when you realized that what you felt for Morel was… more? More than professional? Or friendly?”

“Hmm.” Knov thought over his answer for a few minutes. Out on the floor, Morel spun Alluka under one arm and Nanika under the other. The sight left the doctor smiling softly at his husband. Finally, he answered: “I admit, I was nervous. Unsure. Sometimes those feelings were almost _frightening,_ because I had never felt quite that way with anyone before. But I did soul-searching and realized I had to ask myself some difficult questions. Did I want to tell him? Did I even want to _be_ with Morel, in a committed, established relationship? Or would I prefer to simply sit with my feelings, working and willing them away? The questions complicated and took a long time to answer. 

“Clearly, you can see that I did decide to tell Morel how I felt for him. I decided that my friendship with Morel was strong enough to withstand my own feelings, even if they were not returned. I was ready to accept that things might be awkward. I was also ready to accept the equally terrifying prospect of becoming involved romantically with my work partner, which was its own saga of stress and difficult decisions. It took a lot more emotional labor and time than I anticipated, moving from a working relationship to a romantic one, even if it was something we both wanted – had, incidentally, wanted for quite some time. It takes time and effort to re-negotiate lines and boundaries. To redefine a relationship. There were some growing pains, but I don’t regret a moment of them. Because it got us to where we are now.”

“But what worked for me may not work for you. Everyone is different, just as all relationships are different. They all need their own amount of work and communication. What I can tell you with comfortable certainty is that ignoring how you feel isn’t the answer. It turns something that is meant to bring joy into a needless source of pain. You deserve better than to deny the validity and existence of your feelings. And, if I may… so does he.”

Kurapika lowered his head, feeling his face grow warm in embarrassment. So much for his efforts to _attempt_ subtlety. Knov’s tone offered no censure, however. He offered his advice freely and honestly, but empathetically.  


“I just have a question for you,” Knov eventually added. “Because I wonder if you are asking yourself the right question, here. Something more crucial than the, admittedly relevant, question of what to do with those feelings.”  


“Yes?” Kurapika asked. His shoulders tensed, bracing for impact.

Knov eyed him out of the corner of his eye. “Kurapika, what are you so afraid of?”

Kurapika opened his mouth as if to reply. He wanted to argue, _I’m not afraid,_ as if anyone who had ever met him would believe that. As if he was not a man defined by his fear: of others’ criticism, of losing control, of giving away parts of himself there was no guarantee he would get back. Because Kurapika was not a romantic, was not known for his soft or warm nature, but he was a man who longed to love and receive that love in return, happy, committed, genuine, forever.  


But _forever_ was a long time. And that scared him. He was afraid t blindly trust in that _forever_. He was scared to trust _himself_.

He was scared to be wrong. To fall in love and go through the motions and then watch it all fall apart and be alone again with nothing but his heart of glass cutting into his hands.

“It’s okay, Kurapika,” Knov assured him as the band’s song came to an end. Morel’s head whipped around, searching for his husband. When he caught sight of them, he started jogging to their spot in the corner, looking for all the world like a big, cheery, silver Newfoundland. “You don’t need to come to any decisions now. There is no rush or pressure. Hopefully if these past few weeks left you with any lessons, it’s that these things happen in due time.” He smiled down at Kurapika as Morel arrived to sweep him off into another dance. It was a wonder the detective was still on his feet. “Thank you again, Kurapika. For everything.”

“Of course,” Kurapika replied through numb lips. Morel echoed Knov’s sentiments with a booming laugh, waving at him as the two dove onto the dance floor. He watched them together for a few songs, mixing up the steps on the fast songs and just swaying together on the slow ones. They looked completely at peace like that, wrapped in each other’s arms and murmuring their conversation.

 _I want that,_ Kurapika thought as he watched them. _I want that so badly._

“There you are!”

Leorio called out to him with a wave as he approached, taking Knov’s abandoned spot. One hand held his drink, the other a plate piled with the last of the appetizers. He went on, “I’ve been looking all over for you, what’re you doing back here? The food’s almost out and I know you didn’t eat dinner, but I grabbed what I could, I think there were some of those little empanadas and macaroni cupcakes and baby pickles –”

“Cornichons,” Kurapika corrected automatically.

 _“– baby pickles,_ and cupcakes!” Leorio proudly set the plate down on the table beside them. “Um, I think this one is vanilla buttercream, but Killua probably flavored the icing, and chocolate Oreo ganache! I won’t lie, I _really_ want the chocolate one, but you take the first pick – hey.” Leorio stopped suddenly, looking at Kurapika with concern written all over his face. “Are you okay?”

Kurapika stared at him. In truth, no, he was not, because he was _so_ tired and he liked Leorio _so_ much, and he was _so_ scared to do anything about it because he was _so_ afraid to lose something so, _so_ good. He could have cried. He could have blurted everything out to Leorio right then and there, just to ease the pressure making his chest ache.

But Kurapika only smiled, shaking his head. “I’m well, thank you, just tired and proud of the work we’ve done. Thank you for this.” He took up the fork on the table, starting to dig into the food. Oh, wow, he really _was_ hungry. “The chocolate cupcake is yours.”

“Nice!” Leorio grinned, and Kurapika watched with a small, fond smile as he watched him dig in.

 _I’m sorry, Leorio,_ Kurapika thought, watching the way the golden lights shone on his face and the threads of his vest. The lights winked on the ceiling, catching on the gilded walls and the shimmering paint. _I wish I was brave like you._

Above them, golden letters twinkled: _love is blind, and lovers cannot see the pretty follies themselves commit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaaaa a few final notes!
> 
> 1\. i was unsure if the ~~events~~ of this chapter merited a rating change? because aside from some Thirsting On Main, not much happened? and i don't anticipate anything more than that really happening (on-screen)? but if people would prefer i go up in rating i will do so!!!
> 
> 2\. the roseview ballroom is real! i based it on the [Blackpool Tower ballroom](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blackpool_Tower) in Lancashire, England!
> 
> 3\. the strawberry wine story happened to me in college. my friend brewed it under their bed. i had a glass. thought it was weak sauce. had another. found myself on their floor ten minutes later. it was very good tho. drink responsibly, kiddos!!!! don't do what i did.


	8. light on my heart, light on my feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the latest wedding couple becomes wedding friends. killua and gon take the next step in their relationship. a new member joins the team. and kurapika receives important news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for your patience!!!! we are in the home stretch now!!! this chapter is 90% self-indulgent fluff.
> 
> today's chapter title is taken from ["lightweight" by demi lovato.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xhQ7A8RQBOQ)
> 
> please note this chapter makes VERY brief allusions to animal death (in a palliative, end-of-life setting) and abusive, Zoldyck home life situations.

It was just as well that their middle couple, Squala and Eliza, needed to drop out of the show at the last minute. They cited something about not wanting to commodify their wedding by putting it on TV, which, well, power to them. Kurapika thought they were a bit silly for refusing a free wedding, but it was their decision to make, and he respected it.

Which meant that Kurapika had nearly three weeks until their next couple, veterinarian Knuckle Bine and his fiancé, emergency room nurse Shoot McMahon. He planned to spend them sleeping, cleaning his apartment, organizing his work space, replenishing his lace supply, and getting ahead on work for the next wedding. He was fairly sure he would accomplish maybe half of that, between Gon, Killua, and Leorio texting him and outright showing up at his door to demand his time and attention.

(And if Kurapika planned around that, no one needed to know but him.)

But something Kurapika did not plan for was The Crash.

The Crash was a phenomenon that dogged Kurapika’s footsteps since high school. After Tech Week (Hell Week), after finals season, after awards season, after the lead-up to and the duration of Fashion Week (Hell Month), two things were always assured:

  1. The stellar reviews for Kurapika’s diligence, poise, and brilliant work started rolling in, and;
  2. Kurapika was utterly Laid Out by a head cold/fever that would not have been out of place in an Austenian novel.



Pairo explained the importance of Taking Breaks and Resting more than either brother cared to count anymore. They rehearsed and performed this conversation so often that, on one memorable occasion, Kurapika got to deliver Pairo’s speech word-for-word when three consecutive all-nighters and three months of stress boiled over and led to Pairo contracting shingles.

This was all a long-winded explanation of why, exactly, Kurapika awoke the Saturday after Morel and Knov’s reception with a stuffy nose and a head filled with cotton. Which meant he had, at most, a day to get his affairs in order (read: do laundry and stock up on soup, tissues, tea, Gatorade, and popsicles) before he was betrayed by his own body.

Saturday passed in a haze. Sunday offered a brief, teasing respite that really made Kurapika think he avoided The Crash.

On Monday, he woke up feeling like death warmed over. Everything was hot and cold and his head felt a million pounds and his pajama shirt stuck to his back from sweat. He was shivering, but when he took his temperature, the thermometer read _101°._

“Hm,” Kurapika huffed out, his scratchy throat protesting the noise. His croaking voice sounded oddly quiet in his large, empty loft. “That’s probably not a good sign.”

It was not. He did not feel much more human after his shower, and he spent the rest of his day on his couch, shivering under every blanket he owned and drinking hot tea by the gallon. He made his way through his backlog of reality TV and fell asleep around three in the afternoon, only to awake at nine with a crick in his neck and a taste in his mouth that told him he was absolutely about to be sick.

On Tuesday morning, clad in a fresh set of pajamas, Kurapika took his temperature with slightly shaky fingers and read with hazy eyes, _102°._

_Oh, shit,_ Kurapika thought. He made it to his couch before he collapsed back into his blanket pile, digging his phone out of his pocket and sending a text.

_Pairo, I’m dying._

A few minutes later, his phone dinged with a notification. _i s2g pika if this is about leorio…_

Kurapika sighed and, rather than waste energy typing, he simply took a picture of his thermometer reading and sent it. Almost immediately Pairo replied.

_o shit  
be there in 30_

Kurapika swallowed thickly. It was only his sore throat and pounding head that had him fighting back tears (and failing, a little), and not his amazing baby brother he loved more than anything in the world.

Apparently staying up for half an hour was too much of an endeavor for him, because despite his best efforts to stay awake, Kurapika found himself dozing off. The sound of his door opening roused him somewhat, blinking sluggishly around the hair falling into his eyes. The intruder meant that either a burglar was here to steal his stockpile of Chantilly and Kurta lace and hopefully put Kurapika out of his misery, or Pairo had arrived as scheduled and was, unfortunately, not going to let him die unless he killed him himself.

“Oh, Pika,” Pairo said. When had he apparated into Kurapika’s line of sight? Fascinating. “Let me feel you.”

“Gross,” Kurapika faintly slurred, drowsy from his cough medicine. Pairo snorted.

“Can’t be too sick, if you’re trying to be funny.” But the furrow between Pairo’s thick brows gave away his worry. His hands felt sweetly cool against Kurapika’s forehead when he brushed the back of his fingertips against his skin. Pairo swore softly.

“Shit, Pika, you’re burning up. I can’t believe it got this bad. Have you been doing everything on this damn show of yours?”

“No,” Kurapika mumbled.

“Uh-huh,” Pairo replied skeptically. Already he was standing up and going to Kurapika’s kitchen to fix him tea and soup. Kurapika knew he was hanging on to frustration (with both him and the rest of the wedding team, misplaced as they both knew it was) rather than dwell and fret. Pairo was a world-class worrier, and Kurapika had no doubt his brother was already texting their parents and Altair to update them and ask for advice.

Their advice seemed to be, “smother Kurapika in even more blankets and drown him in soup,” which was just as well, because that was his own approach to handling The Crash.

Tuesday passed in a sleepy, feverish haze. Pairo took over Kurapika’s kitchen table to keep editing his book. From the amount of coffee he drank and the way he cursed the gods above and called upon the power of the gods below, he seemed to be re-writing half the damn thing. Wednesday was very much the same. 

On Thursday, Altair dropped by as well. One of the perks of having a doctor for a brother, Kurapika sleepily decided, was the free consultations when one spent four days with a fever vacillating between 99 and 103. Pairo anxiously wrung his hands over Altair’s shoulder as the doctor took Kurapika’s temperature.

“One-oh-one,” Altair stated. He eyed Kurapika. “Kurapika, you know what I’m going to say.”

“If you try to put a thermometer up my ass, I will throw you out my window,” Kurapika rasped. Altair’s lips twitched.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured him. “I was _going_ to suggest the h-word.”

“Heroin?”

Pairo snorted out a laugh. “That’s how we know you’re really sick. You’re already at stage three. Actual humor. Altair, can we take him to the hospital now?”

“Fuck off.” Kurapika sat up to drink some Gatorade, wincing as his sore muscles protested. “What’re these stages?”

“The stages of the Kurapika Crash. Stage one is general sleepiness and forgetfulness,” Altair rattled off, like he’d studied it. Knowing Altair, he probably did. Kurapika swallowed down another wave of emotion that threatened to block his throat. “Stage two is expressing emotions.”

“I express my emotions all the time,” Kurapika insisted. His voice wobbled and cracked at the very end, though, which did rather undercut the argument he was trying to make.

“Stage three is actually being funny,” Altair carried on, ignoring Kurapika’s laughable attempt to argue. “Or, well, it’s more like you losing your filter and just saying whatever comes into your head, in whatever language that happens to be in. Stage four is cuddling. Or, wanting cuddles, because no sane person would willingly come close to you when you’re a walking petri dish.”

“I hate you,” Kurapika announced. “Get out of my apartment and leave me to perish.”

“Nope.” Altair capped the thermometer and stood up. Holding out a hand, he said, “Time to take a shower. You smell. I’m going to wash your blankets.”

Kurapika frowned. “But it’s your day off.”

_Dammit_ , his voice cracked again. Altair laughed at him, a kind, warm sound.

“It is,” he agreed. “But you’re my brother. And when your brother needs you, you go to him. You’ve done the same for Pairo and me.” Rather than let Kurapika start sniffling all over him, he gently caught Kurapika’s shoulders and nudged him towards the stairs to his bathroom. “I’ll have your meds ready when you come out. Go.”

Grumbling incoherently, Kurapika obeyed. The shower _did_ do him a world of good, and if he did not feel quite _better_ again when he stepped out of the shower and put on the latest set of sweatpants and a long-sleeved linen shirt, then he felt a few degrees closer to it. After donning some fluffy patterned socks with sailboats on them, a gag gift from Pairo after a vacation a few years ago, he wandered back down the stairs to take his meds and wrap himself up in a blanket cocoon. As he descended the stairs, he saw Altair putting his blankets into the dryer and Pairo tapping away at his phone.

Read: _Kurapika’s_ phone.

“What are you doing?” Kurapika demanded. He sounded a bit more like a person after his shower, too, and less like someone sanded down his vocal chords. Pairo did not even look up.

“Your phone was blowing up, and I wanted to make sure it wasn’t an emergency. Apparently people wondered if you were coming to the ‘Mario Kart Global Grand Prix’ today, whatever the hell that means.”

It meant that Kurapika was going to miss the hours-long video game marathon that was the Zoldycks’ plan to use their day off to run a tournament to decide the ultimate Mario Kart racer. Their plans actually included a lot of math, every single console game, and, presumably, enough sugar to send a child’s birthday party into shock. He groaned, burying his face in his hands to stifle his disappointment. Then a belated realization struck him, and he looked up.

“Wait. I have my phone passcode protected.”

Pairo scoffed. “You’ve used the same passcode since high school. It’s the date your adoption was finalized, you big softie.”

_“Oh,”_ Altair said, clasping a hand to his chest and practically doubling over, as if the adorableness of their interaction hit like a physical blow.

Kurapika ignored him. “What did you say?”

“I told them you’re on your way,” Pairo said sarcastically. He scowled at his idiot brother. “I said you were ill and unable to attend. Don’t worry, I was as needlessly formal as possible. Triple-checked my grammar and everything.”

“I hate you,” Kurapika repeated. He took his cough medicine and hobbled back to his couch, where the lit candle (thank you, Pairo) and the avalanche of warm, fresh laundry made him slip into a sleepy doze on the couch.

That is, until he was stirred from his impromptu nap by a strange buzzing sound. It sounded vaguely like someone asking to be let in. Brushing it off as a byproduct of his medication-and-fever-induced sleepiness, he settled back down to sleep.

A few minutes later there was a knock at the door. The sound of it opening, and –

_“Leorio?”_

A pause. “… Pairo!”

Oh, no. Oh God, oh shit, oh _fuck_. Kurapika clawed his way out of his blanket nest and sat up, even though it immediately left him dizzy with his frizzy hair standing on end from static. He settled his elbow over the back of the couch, gaping wide-eyed and slack-jawed at Leorio, who stood in his doorway with a takeout bag. He was dressed in jeans and a faded t-shirt with a video game logo on it and an unzipped, immensely soft-looking hoodie. When he caught sight of Kurapika’s head popping up from the couch, his expression flashed from concerned and surprised to a small smile and then back to concerned.

“Um,” he said addressing them all, “Sorry, I don’t mean to drop by unannounced – I thought, from the text, you were here alone, Kurapika, and I just wanted to – but your brothers are here! Cool! So sorry to intrude, I’ll just – I can –”

Altair, by far the nicest and most devious of the three men, swooped in to Leorio’s rescue. He looped an arm around Pairo’s waist, subtly pinching him back to his senses. “Leorio! Come in, it’s so nice to meet you! Kurapika has told us so much about you!”

“Oh.” Leorio was spared from needing to say more when Altair showed him in and closed the door behind him like a mouse trap snapping shut. Altair prattled on, saying:

“All good things, of course! Well, you can work out who my fiancé is. This is Pairo, and I’m Altair! Kurapika’s brothers!”

Kurapika was pretty sure this was Altair’s attempt at intimidation. But considering he was a pediatric surgeon and Leorio was a solid foot taller than he was, he fell a bit flat. But Leorio did go pink, looking a touch nervous. He reached up to scratch the back of his neck.

“Ah, yeah, I recognized you. From your submission tape. And from Kurapika! He talks about you all the time. All good things!” A pause. Then Leorio amended, _“Mostly_ good things.”

And then the three bastards had a laugh at Kurapika’s expense. He scowled at them all.

“If you’re here to just laugh at me, you all can just fuck off and leave me to die.”

Leorio lifted an eyebrow, looking faintly amused. Pairo and Altair exchanged knowing looks and chorused, “Stage two.”

“Stage two?” Leorio repeated, looking confused.

“It’s nothing,” Kurapika said loudly before Altair or Pairo could speak. Instead of saying anything, however, Pairo eyed the bag Leorio still had in his hand with interest.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, um,” Leorio said, “When Kurapika texted the group chat saying he was sick, I didn’t know he already had folks here, so I, ah, went to grab some things and keep him company? So I got some Gatorade, and the ingredients to make this thing my ma always made us when we were sick when we were younger – I have five younger siblings – that doesn’t matter right now – and some medicine, and some of that Vick’s stuff for breathing, and that tomato and chicken soup that he likes –”

“The one with orzo?” Kurapika asked. His face was hot, and he very much decided to blame that on his fever in front of his brothers. The brothers who were exchanging knowing glances with one another as Leorio looked over at him, nervous lines around his mouth softening into a smile.

“Of course.”

Kurapika wordlessly held out his arms, making grabby hands. Leorio laughed aloud as he approached, politely stepping around Pairo and Altair. With Kurapika taking up the entire couch, Leorio had to sit on the floor and dig through his bag. A few moments later, Kurapika had a big travel bowl of his favorite soup in the entire world in his hands. He carefully pulled off the lid and took a sip of the thick, creamy soup. It actually soothed his throat, in addition to being delicious, and he had to close his eyes to stop them from tearing up.

Leorio chuckled softly. Kurapika felt careful fingers trail over his forehead, his temple. He found himself leaning into the touch without consciously choosing to do so. He opened his eyes to see Leorio looking at him with tender, concerned eyes.

“Oh, man,” He murmured sympathetically. “Fever’s really doing a number on you, huh, sunshine?”

Over Leorio’s shoulder, Pairo and Altair’s mouths fell open. Altair looked like _he_ might cry, too, now, from all the saccharine sweetness in front of him. Pairo just looked ready to laugh and lord this over Kurapika’s head forever. He mouthed to Kurapika, _sunshine?!_

Kurapika looked away from his brothers as Leorio dropped his hand. Awkwardly clearing his throat, he said, “I’ll head out, now. I don’t mean to overstay my welcome, and if you two are here –”

“Oh, that’s quite alright,” Pairo interrupted smoothly. Kurapika’s stomach dropped at the evil glimmer in his brother’s eyes and prayed that Leorio’s much more honed elder brother instincts would not key him into the salacious things Pairo was wordlessly screaming. “I have a meeting with my editor to get to, and Altair, love, you only get a day off every few weeks. We can head out. We trust you to take care of Kurapika.” There was _no_ _way_ he was imagining the double- or triple-entendre in Pairo’s words. “Pika, call us if you need anything. Leorio, it was great to finally meet you, we should all get dinner when he’s feeling better!”

What he meant was, _let’s get dinner so we can mercilessly grill you and not feel bad about it because Kurapika is about to die on his own couch,_ but Leorio did not need to know that. And before Kurapika could say no, that will never happen, Leorio flushed an extremely becoming shade of pink over his neck and cheeks, running a hand shyly through his hair again. Damn, even his nervous tics were adorable.

“I'd like that,” he admitted. He grinned up at the two. “It was really nice to finally meet you both, too. Despite the circumstances.”

Pairo hummed, as if he was somehow not convinced of Leorio’s incredibly altruistic nature and not actively on his side. Altair beamed before his face settled back into seriousness. “He took some cold medicine about half an hour ago, so he should be good for his next dose at half-past three. His temperature was at a hundred and one, too. If it doesn’t go down by tomorrow, or if he spikes to one-oh-three, please take him to the hospital. He’s a big baby when he’s sick, though, so don’t let him be too much of a drama queen.”

Leorio laughed; Kurapika scowled at them around his spoonful of soup.

“He’s not _dumb_. And you’re acting like I’m your kid and you’re leaving me with a babysitter.”

“Aren’t we?” Altair asked, honey-sweet, and Pairo laughed aloud, because he was an asshole. Leorio, the traitor, failed to turn his snicker into a cough.

“I’ll take good care of him,” Leorio promised.

The couple beamed at Leorio and then Kurapika, looking utterly thrilled with this entire development. He estimated they were going to be fifteen seconds out the door by the time they started blowing up his phone. He inconspicuously muted his notifications to head off that conversation.

“We know,” Pairo said, finally softening some. Then his wicked grin returned in full force. “And he’s only on stage one in the Kurapika Crash Scale. Be careful if he gets worse.”

“The what?” Leorio asked.

“Get _out!”_ Kurapika yelled, snatching up a pillow and throwing it in his brothers’ direction. It bounced harmlessly off of Pairo’s shoulder. The volume was too much for him, though, and he found himself doubled over in a coughing fit for his troubles.

“Bye!” Pairo sang, catching Altair’s arm and pulling him out the door. When the door shut behind them, Kurapika groaned aloud. His stores of energy ran out again, and he lay down again, putting his forearm over his eyes.

“You’re really sick, aren’t you?” Leorio asked.

“Couldn’t tell?” Kurapika asked, throat and voice dry as the desert. But then he nodded weakly, because it was not Leorio’s fault he was so sick and full of embarrassed self-pity. Without moving his arm, he explained, “When I work too much, too hard, for too long… I always get really sick once it stops. It hasn’t been this bad before, though.”

“Burnout,” Leorio said wisely. Kurapika moved his arm to meet Leorio’s eyes.

“I thought you’d say something along the lines of ‘I told you so.’”

Leorio shrugged, a sheepish grin on his lips. “I won’t lie, I _did_ think that. But would that help? I hadn’t thought so, but I could give it a try.”

Kurapika laughed weakly. It made his chest hurt. “Pairo and Altair already did.”

“If your brothers doing it didn’t help, then I don’t think I would, either,” Leorio decided. He fell silent for a few minutes, thoughtful. Kurapika curled up on his side, facing Leorio. With Leorio sitting on the floor, his elbow propped against the edge of the couch, he was at last close enough to count the flecks of jade in his irises. He wished he was well enough to properly enjoy it.

“I admit, I’ve never really taken care of a sick person before,” Leorio said, breaking their warm bubble of silence. “What can I help with? What hurts?”

“Everything,” Kurapika croaked, and Leorio chuckled. Because, oh, yeah. Dramatic. He amended, “My head and throat, mostly. I’m stuffy and my chest hurts. And I’m so, so tired. I want to just lay here and watch something and sleep.”

Leorio thought for another few moments. “Growing up, my ma always made us put on the Vick’s and drink this tea. She said that nothing helped recovery like little creature comforts.” He rooted around in the bag and settled the little jar of Vick’s on the table. He carried on, “I’ll leave this with you, and I’ll make this tea. Whenever _I’m_ sick, I just want to watch bad action movies and vegetate. How does that sound to you?”

Kurapika swallowed thickly. There was a lump in his throat and wetness teasing at the inner corners of his eyes. He wiped them away, sniffling. “That sounds. Nice.”

“Oh, _sunshine,”_ Leorio laughed, sweet and concerned. “You _are_ sick. Give me a few, I’ll be right back.”

He walked off. Kurapika watched him fuzzily, his head feeling like it was stuffed with a hundred pounds of cotton. The medicine made his thoughts sluggish and his actions uncoordinated. It took him a bit longer than he was proud to admit to open the Vick’s container and dab the powerful-smelling concoction over his chest and temples. His eyelids were heavy and lidded when Leorio returned about ten minutes later. The tincture did not have any actual tea in it, but the shorthand made enough sense to describe the mix of lemon slices, honey, and hot water in the thick mug that Leorio carefully pressed into his hands.

“I made some more and put it in your fridge,” Leorio explained. “It’s better when it’s had time to sit and infuse, but this should help you feel better for now.”

Kurapika sipped the drink. Honey-sweetened lemon spread over his tongue and soothed his sore throat. He swallowed again and almost cried at the way the action didn’t hurt.

“Thank you, Leorio,” Kurapika said gratefully. “You’re always so kind to me. I’m not always sure I deserve it, but it truly means the world to me. I adore you.”

The last part – truthfully, the entire emotional babble – came out without choosing to say it aloud. And Leorio blushed _fantastically_ at his words, from his neck to the roots of his hair. Terror and embarrassment gripped Kurapika from head to toes, but before he could walk back his words, Leorio spoke.

“Oh. Wow.”

For a second, something horribly akin to _hope_ burned in Kurapika’s breastbone. Because this could not be a catastrophe, could it, with Leorio looking at him like that? Flushed and pleased, pretty mouth smiling, prettier eyes sparkling?

Leorio huffed out a soft laugh. “Sorry. I was just caught off-guard, I guess. I’ve never heard you speak Kurtan.”

_Wait._

“It’s a really beautiful language. But I’ve no idea what you just said.”

_What?_

Kurapika gaped at him, his mind slow to catch up. Kurtan. He said all that bullshit in _Kurtan._ Relief and dismay warred for dominance in his chest. He might have yelled if it wasn’t sure to hurt his throat and head.

“Oh,” Kurapika said dumbly. “I’m sorry. I said thank you, and that I appreciate you doing all this for me. It means a lot.”

Leorio smiled. “Of course. What’re friends for?”

What, indeed.

It took some finagling, but Kurapika moved aside to free up a cushion for Leorio to sit on. He felt bad for disturbing Kurapika’s blanket nest, so he insisted on putting a pillow on his leg for him to lay his head on. And with the noon sun streaming through the apartment, the beginning of a terrible Netflix action movie on his TV, the two made eye contact. And Kurapika realized how stupid and fraught this situation was.

Because he had a free armchair mere feet away. His own bed was upstairs, and he would probably rest better if he slept in it _(alone)_ instead of on the couch. In any case, his head was on Leorio’s lap, instead of his feet like usual.

Did friends do this? Friends took care of each other when they were sick. They sat with them and brought them soup and tea. They watched bad TV together. Sometimes they even lay together like this. What happened to the lines demarcating their boundaries? What was professional, what was platonic, what was _not?_ It was too much to truly consider, especially when all Kurapika wanted as his cold medicine kicked on in earnest was to stay right where he was. He did not want to worry about that right now. He wanted to sleep here, in this cocoon of fresh laundry and pine-scented candles and Leorio’s warmth.

Leorio was looking down at him, expression unreadable. Kurapika gazed back up at him, in return, thinking, _you are so kind, so good and so beautiful. You are my favorite person in the world. You are my best friend._

But he didn’t say that. Because he was not sure what language would come out.

Leorio finally broke their stalemate. “Can I touch your hair?”

This time, Kurapika was pretty sure the heat flooding his entire body was not from the fever. Slowly, he nodded, turning away to face the TV and watch the movie.

“You need a haircut,” Leorio observed. 

Kurapika chuckled. “Shut up.”

Leorio’s fingers moved slowly over his head, and Kurapika spared a few moments to be _so grateful_ he took a shower before this. Gentle, callused fingers ran over the strands. Skimmed through them, catching between Leorio’s fingers, nails brushing his scalp. His thumb tickled the shell of his ear. Chills – the good kind, the best kind – raced through his body, spine to feet. If his toes curled, there were enough blankets to hide the evidence that he was not as unaffected as he pretended.

And Kurapika melted into the couch, into the blankets and Leorio’s steady, comforting touch, and fell asleep.

~

The sun was low in the sky when Kurapika opened his eyes again. It bathed his loft’s eggshell white walls in orange-pink light. He swallowed, feeling gross, but the action did not ache as it did earlier in the day. He slowly sat up, careful not to jostle the dozing Leorio from his position. His hand loosely carded through his hair and rested limply on the pillow in his lap. Kurapika’s eyes trailed over Leorio’s face, taking in the rasp of stubble lining his jaw and the circles under his eyes. With a guilty jolt, Kurapika realized that he had to be exhausted, too. It seemed that in his constant workaholism, he had not realized that he was inadvertently demanding Leorio and Gon keep pace with him. And they all knew how busy the Zoldycks were all the time, between running the restaurant and their work for _Light of My Life._

_I need to be better,_ Kurapika realized. If not just for himself, then for the people he worked with. He would be a poor leader if he worked his teammates to exhaustion as well as himself.

Sighing, Kurapika took a sip of his now-tepid tea. He wandered to the kitchen to take his temperature. His stomach growled for the first time in days, his appetite returning. The thermometer beeped. Kurapika checked the screen and saw it read _98.8°._

Beaming, Kurapika unlocked his phone to text his brothers the update that his fever had finally broken, and that he was right to refuse their adamant demands he go to the hospital. But when he unlocked his phone, it was to see his brothers had blown up their group chat.

_**Altair:** oh my god_

_**Pairo:** sunshine???_

_**Altair:** pika. pika are you kidding me????_

_**Pairo:** sunshine?????????_

_**Altair:** he is ADORABLE. You two are ADORABLE??_

_**Pairo:** s u n s h i n e_

_**Altair:** kurapika GET IT_

_**Pairo:** sun. shine. sunshine. sunshine? SUNSHINE??????_

_**Altair:** pairo love please say something else_

_**Pairo:** oh ok. pika i’m going to kick your ass._

_**Altair:** babe!!!!  
**Altair:** i mean fair but  
**Altair:** that’s not what i meant  
**Altair:** he’s sick  
**Altair:** (lovesick~~~~)_

_**Pairo:** pika  
**Pairo:** i’ve had to listen to your angst and pining and self-doubt for months  
**Pairo:** all leorio this and leorio that and leorio is so talented handsome amazing i wanna kiss his stupid face etc etc etc he’s not into me tho we’re just friends i’m a professional busy man who can never have feelings ever or i will DIE where i STAND  
**Pairo:** and then that SIX-FOUR ADONIS shows up at your door to take care of you  
**Pairo:** all shy and flustered and worried  
**Pairo:** with SOUP and HOMEMADE TEA  
**Pairo:** sits next to you ON YOUR FLOOR  
**Pairo:** TOUCHING YOUR FACE LIKE A ROMCOM HERO  
**Pairo:** CALLING YOU  
**Pairo:** S U N S H I N E_

_**Altair:** sweetheart breathe_

_**Pairo:** NO  
**Pairo:** mr. “i am allergic to emotions  
**Pairo:** mr. “i am married to my job”  
**Pairo:** mr. “i’m very happy living the single life”  
**Pairo:** mr. “no one touch me ever”  
**Pairo:** mr. “he is so fucking hot oh my god but we’re just friends he could NEVER LIKE ME”  
**Pairo:** i have been your gd therapist for months!!!  
**Pairo:** and i have not been told that he looks at you like you hung the goddamn MOON  
**Pairo:** and he smiles at you and touches you and calls you. YOU. my grade-a bitch of a brother. SUNSHINE._

_**Altair:** and you let him!_

_**Pairo:** AND YOU LET HIM!!!!!!!!!!  
  
**Altair:** i think it’s adorable  
**Altair:** i wasn’t sure i’d ever see it  
**Altair:** pika, melted. pika, sweet and affectionate.  
**Altair:** pika, in love._

_**Pairo:** AND YOU THINK HE DOESN’T LIKE YOU  
**Pairo:** idiot  
**Pairo:** that man ADORES you as clearly as you adore him  
**Pairo:** and it’s obvious you do_

_**Altair:** pairo he told us_

_**Pairo:** i know!!!!!  
**Pairo:** pika i’m sure you’re asleep or smthn now  
**Pairo:** you are my brother and i love you so so much  
**Pairo:** but i’m gonna be blunt now_

_**Altair:** ooooh pairo tough love time_

_**Pairo:** pairo tough love time  
**Pairo:** people wander around their whole lives searching for someone who looks at you the way leorio does  
**Pairo:** the way that you look back at him  
**Pairo:** they read books about the way you two look at each other. shit, *i write* those books.  
**Pairo:** you have something so special and amazing blossoming here  
**Pairo:** don’t mess it up.  
**Pairo:** i’ll never forgive you if you do. or if you break that nice man’s heart.  
**Pairo:** and i know you won’t, either._

_**Altair:** pairo, hush  
**Altair:** pika, it’s okay to go slow  
**Altair:** what i think pairo and i are trying to say is, we love you and want you to be happy  
**Altair:** so move at your pace, but move.  
**Altair:** enjoy your nap!!_

Kurapika read his brothers’ loving threats with a small smile on his lips. The love and cautious happiness and blatant frustration leapt off the page. He re-read his brothers’ emphatic declarations and well-wishes and felt a small flame of hope kindle up in his chest. It was nice of them to be so adamant and on his side, he mused, but with his breaking fever, so broke the fantasy. Leorio was his friend, and he came to take care of Kurapika because of that. Not for any other reason.

So all Kurapika did in response to his brothers’ texts was send them a picture of his temperature. Almost immediately the replies started rolling in.

_**Altair:** that’s great news!!!! Make sure you take it easy for another few days just to keep from relapsing._

_**Pairo:** is leorio still there sunshine?_

_**Kurapika:** shut up  
**Kurapika:** … yes_

“Kurapika?”

He looked up from his phone. Leorio was still on the couch, rubbing sleepily at his eyes. He gave Kurapika a once-over. A slow smile spread over his lips when he saw Kurapika standing upright.

“Feeling better, sunshine?”

For the first time, Kurapika realized how silly it was that Leorio called him that. Not because it belied the length of time they spent together, nor the way it made everyone who interacted with them think their relationship was more than platonic when it wasn’t. No, it was silly to call _Kurapika_ sunshine when Leorio looked like _that_ sitting on his couch, warm and handsome and inviting, skin bronze in the afternoon sun that illuminated his profile and made his eyes sparkle and his toothy smile glow. He was the comfort of a sunlit afternoon picnic. Of the clouds breaking after a storm and making a dew-dripping garden glitter.

_Ugh,_ and now Kurapika was on the _waxing poetic_ stage of his terrible crush. Worse still, he couldn’t even find it in himself to regret it.

“Yes, I am,” Kurapika told him. His stomach growled at that moment, loud enough that even Leorio heard it. He slapped a hand to his mouth to stop himself from making a sound, giving up and laughing heartily when Kurapika turned bright red.

Leorio dropped his hand, though he couldn’t quite conquer his smile. “Dinner?”

“Dinner,” Kurapika agreed happily, and he hopped back onto the couch, sitting cross-legged and wrapping his blanket securely around his shoulders.

If he and Leorio sat closer together during dinner and their third terrible movie of the day, and if Kurapika dozed off against Leorio’s shoulder only to wake up carefully nestled atop his blankets in bed the next morning, then they mutually agreed they were not going to talk about it quite yet. Or – if Kurapika’s luck held – not at all.

~




The rest of their time off flew by. His days were split between catching up on the work he wanted to get done before their next pair and spending his weekends and evenings with Leorio, Gon, and the Zoldycks, either in his loft or at their farmhouse. Truth be told, it was nothing so concrete as a vacation. Though Kurapika had to dip into his vacation days while he was sick, he still had plenty of work to do. They all did. Which was why, when Kurapika was well enough to receive visitors again, Gon and Leorio worked together to go through their endless backlog of footage. They connected Gon’s computer to Kurapika’s television to give their eyes and necks a bit of a break, after pouring over the screen for hours on end.

“Gon, what’s that file?” Leorio asked one day as their tech pulled up the last of the footage from the Pokkle/Ponzu wedding. Kurapika looked up from his lace-weaving to examine the screen. Under the files labeled with their couples’ names was a final file labeled, _Side Hustle._

“Oh, I do some commissions for folks online,” Gon said cheerfully. “Just when I have the time. I haven’t been able to do it much these past few months, though. Keeps my skills sharp and lets me try new things with lower stakes.”

He pulled up the footage of the final days of their beach wedding and hit _play,_ already talking about lighting and editing and how he pictured stitching the best of the wedding footage together. Kurapika forgot the brief interaction by the end of the day.

Another major accomplishment of his short reprieve from wedding planning occurred on the first evening Kurapika, Pairo, and Altair were able to get together for dinner after he was sick.

This was, of course, after the required roast session.

“You looked like you’d been asleep a hundred years, sleeping beauty, and not in the good way,” Pairo was in the middle of telling Kurapika as he diced vegetables for their stir-fry. “Bed-head. Pillow creases on your face.”

“Oh, he was not that bad,” Altair interrupted, rolling his eyes. He stirred the sauce on the stove.

“Drool on your chin.”

“There was _not,”_ Altair and Kurapika said together. Kurapika scowled as he used his wrist to palm away his hair, sniffling from the onions he was dicing.

“What happened after we left?” Altair asked. He leaned around Pairo, stealing a piece of red pepper, and leaned his elbows on the kitchen island.

“I slept. Well, we both did,” Kurapika said. His cheeks heated at the memory of Leorio’s hand carding through his hair.

“Where?” Pairo asked. Kurapika threw a quartered onion at him; Pairo dodged it with a yelp.

“The couch, idiot, now can we _please_ talk about anything else?” Kurapika begged.

“I’ve been praying for you to say that for months,” Pairo said, very seriously. The knowing twinkle in his eyes gave away his true feelings on the matter, however.

As always these days, conversation revolved around the wedding. They were coming up on two months until the big day, and because the rest of December was already going to be hectic between various holiday celebrations and commitments, they were trying to get as much handled ahead of time as possible. They discussed who RSVP’d to the wedding so far, who purchased what off the registry, their plans for their honeymoon.

“I have something for you,” Kurapika finally told them after dinner as he put the dishes into the washer.

“What is it?” Pairo asked as he moved over to the couch, joining Altair.

“A knuckle sandwich,” Kurapika told him as he went to his work station.

“Sorry. Just ate.”

“Go to hell.” Kurapika shyly clasped the 13x19-inch papers against his chest and reminded himself that this was for his job. And for his brothers. Whirling around on his heel, marched over to sit on the couch.

“So,” he started, “I know that a big part of this wedding planning has been figuring out how to thoughtfully blend your cultural traditions together. And something that has been bothering you a lot about that was the wedding outfits. So I’ve done about a million designs and sketches and mock-ups and come up with something that doesn’t suck, I think, and if you don’t like them that’s fine –”

“Kurapika, anxiety,” Pairo reminded him. Kurapika took a breath.

“Right. These are the designs I’d like to put forward for your consideration.” Kurapika turned the papers around, and Pairo and Altair each gasped.

On first glance, the outfits were not particularly complex. They were slim-fitting suits of similar cuts and fabrics, scarlet for Pairo and royal purple for Altair. But overlaid atop them was a long, sheer cape in the style of Kurta traditional ceremonial robes, embroidered with gold around the edges and all over the shoulder-to-heel cape. Geometric designs and swirls created bold, angular patterns on Pairo’s outfit and lighter, airier ones on Altair’s. 

“Kurapika,” Pairo breathed, awestruck. His finger traced the shining metallic ink he used to line the designs. “Pika, this is _incredible._ You thought we might not like these? I love it. It’s so amazing. It’s so you, and so _us.”_ He caught a glimpse of the third and final paper that Kurapika still held to his chest. A knowing grin split his face. “And what’s that one?”

“This?” Kurapika ducked his head sheepishly. “Well. I’ve never been in a wedding before, let alone been someone’s best man. I thought I deserved something special for the occasion.”

He turned the paper around so the other two could study it, as well. It was a very similar cut to the other suits, though the fabric was deep, midnight blue. He also gave the design a cape, although this one only fell to the suit’s hips. The shorter length paid deference to Kurapika’s Kurta heritage while also showing that he did not have as important a role in the wedding. The best man to the groom, in other words. This cape would be embroidered all over in bold geometric designs criss-crossed with light, ethereal thread to make the entire cape glitter.

“Oh, I love all of this,” Altair cried eagerly. He smiled at Kurapika and then turned his beam on Pairo. “I cannot wait to marry you.”

“For the clothes?”

“For _everything_ _,”_ Altair corrected, rolling his eyes. Pairo laughed and leaned in to capture his soon-to-be husband’s lips in a sweet kiss.

Kurapika shook his head at them and returned to his desk.

~

At last their three weeks of downtime came to a close. Kurapika walked into their office on Monday morning at eight-thirty, rather than his usual eight o’clock, and met Leorio in the elevator. Kurapika held the door for him as Leorio half-jogged into the small, cramped space with him.

“Miss your alarm?” Leorio asked by way of morning greeting. Kurapika chuckled.

“Not at all. I did some thinking these past few weeks and realized that I could stand to work… a _little_ less,” Kurapika admitted. He sensed Leorio’s amazed stare on his profile and felt himself going red again. He whirled around on Leorio. “Not that I will perform at any less than my usual standards. But… perhaps people have been right to ask me to add a little more _life_ to my work-life balance.”

“Be still my heart, you _do_ listen to me,” Leorio said, clasping a hand over his chest. Kurapika scrunched his nose up at him.

“This is the first, last, and only time. Enjoy it.”

The elevator dinged as they arrived on their floor. Leorio smirked down at him.

“I intend to. C’mon.”

They beat Gon to the office by only ten or so minutes. Their lead tech bustled in a mere twenty minutes before their latest couple was due to arrive, his hair still damp from his morning shower. He also had a –

“Gon,” Leorio said, his face and voice even. Gon looked up from his camera, where he was plugging in the charged battery.

“Huh?”

“You’ve got a…” Leorio tapped at the side of his own neck, mirroring the suspiciously crescent-shaped mark that marred the dip between Gon’s neck and shoulder. Gon looked down, as if he might see the purplish-red hickey. He could not, but moving seemed to remind him of its existence. He looked up at them both, eyes wide and horrified and face going scarlet.

“Oh, I – um, I, I’m sorry – I just – we – Killua and I –”

Leorio, big brother instincts kicking in, started laughing in earnest. “Believe me, we _all_ assumed it was Killua.”

_“Leorioooooo,”_ Gon whined, voice pitched high and drawing the word out. Kurapika sighed and stood up, taking pity on the poor thing.

“Leorio, stop teasing him.” Leorio stopped laughing immediately, although he was still smirking evilly at Gon. “And Gon, it’s alright. It’s happened to all of us before.”

“It _has?”_ Leorio and Gon chorused. Kurapika ignored them both. 

“Are you mad?” Gon asked, changing tack when it seemed like Kurapika would not elaborate further.

Leorio cracked and started laughing in earnest again. Kurapika bit back his own snicker. “No, Gon, we’re not mad at all. Like I said, it’s happened to all of us. Now you know to make sure marks aren’t visible for –”

“Next time,” Leorio finished, still snickering. Kurapika looked over his shoulder and glared at him. Leorio immediately ducked his head back over his phone, cowed. Kurapika sighed.

“This should work in a pinch,” he said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a scarf. It helped that black went with everything, he mused as he wrapped the cotton blend around Gon’s neck. It matched his hair and played up his brown skin and contrasted nicely with his tight-fitting white t-shirt. And, most importantly, it hid the mark on his neck.

“You just had that laying around?” Leorio asked. Kurapika turned back to him and saw his work partner was still snickering, looking both amazed and playfully annoyed. “Are you _sure_ you’re not just clairvoyant?”

“I’ve worked with models for ten years,” Kurapika said dismissively. “I’ve had to cover up my fair share of hickeys at the last minute. Unfortunately, I don’t have my makeup on me, so this will have to do.”

The blush Gon had successfully conquered returned with a vengeance as the h-word. Leorio finally seemed to get over his love of teasing Gon and turned to the younger man.

“Things going well there, I take it?” He asked.

Gon nodded, humming a happy little note. “Really well, I think. He’s just… it’s so… and when we’re together, it’s like…” words failing him, Gon lifted his arms and splayed his fingers, mouth making a _wa-pam!_ sound to imitate fireworks. It was fucking precious, actually, and Kurapika exchanged a knowing grin with Leorio while Gon blinked the stars out of his eyes.

“Well, we’re happy for you, kiddo,” Leorio said. The phone rang to announce their nine o’clock appointment’s arrival. He sent a wink back over his shoulder on his way out of the room, adding, “You two have a really good thing going.”

He stepped outside, letting the door swing shut behind him. Kurapika tried to focus on flipping his sketchbook to a new page, copying down the date (it was late September _already?_ And the wedding was set for _mid-October?_ Where had the year gone?) and the couple’s names, but he kept feeling Gon’s heavy stare on his profile. 

“Something on your mind, Gon?” Kurapika asked finally, looking up from his page.

“Kind of,” Gon admitted. He grinned sheepishly at Kurapika’s serious expression shaking his head. “It’s not a big deal! I just wanted to let you and Leorio know a quick thing, but it can wait until after the meeting.”

Kurapika lifted an eyebrow. Truthfully, this answer did not do much to quell his sudden spike in anxiety, but there was not much Kurapika could do with their latest couple walking through the door in perhaps thirty seconds. But he trusted Gon and knew that if there was a real problem, he would have brought it up as soon as he walked through the door. Kurapika guessed it was something to do with Killua, and so he decided to put the issue from his mind as the door swung open.

Leorio was already wrapped up in conversation with the couple, because of course he was. His conversational partner was a tall, well-built man with a frizzy mass of curls that Kurapika already knew would keep Cluck awake at night for days as she wondered how best to style it for the wedding. He wore green scrubs, the shirt of which was also patterned over with smiling, cartoon puppy faces. He was a comedic contrast from his partner, who wore his long purple hair tucked back into a low bun. He, too, was dressed in scrubs, though his were dark blue with the Yorknew West hospital logo over his heart. Kurapika noticed that while his right hand was pale to match his skin tone, his left was a black and silver prosthesis.

“Gentlemen,” Kurapika greeted, raising to his feet and offering a hand. “It’s nice to finally meet.”

The man with the dark, curly hair beamed ear to ear and caught Kurapika’s outstretched hand in both of his. His eager handshake crushed Kurapika’s so hard that he was hard-put not to wince. “Knuckle! Knuckle Bine, but you know that. This is my fiancé – fiancé! Wow! – Shoot McMahon, soon to be McMahon-Bine, we’re going to hyphenate, we think it’ll be a good, strong name, you know? We are _so excited_ to be here and work with you, thank you for selecting us! We can’t wait to get started –”

“Knuckle,” Shoot finally interrupted gently, placing a hand on his partner’s shoulder. “Let’s sit, shall we, before we discuss more? And you’re going to shake his poor shoulder out of alignment.”

Kurapika was pretty sure Knuckle already _did_ , but he smiled appreciatively when Knuckle dropped his hand. Knuckle laughed, “Whoops! Sorry about that. I got a bit carried away. Yes, let’s sit.”

Leorio led Knuckle to the couch to give Kurapika a few moments to put his hand back together. Shoot sent him a knowing, commiserating smile as he held out his own hand to shake. “It’s very nice to meet you, Kurapika. I know Knuckle already said so, but we are looking forward to working with you. Thank you for choosing us as one of your couples.”

It was obvious that Shoot was the cooler head to Knuckle’s effusive temperament, Kurapika found over the course of that meeting. Knuckle was loud, his laughter even louder, and he dominated most of the conversation about how he and Shoot met, what they wanted their wedding to be like, how excited he was to marry his best friend.

But Kurapika noticed that for as loud as he was, Knuckle never spoke _over_ any of them, never interrupted, least of all over Shoot. The few times Shoot volunteered his opinion, Knuckle immediately snapped his mouth shut and listened with rapt attention. Kurapika quickly worked out that far from being uninterested in the wedding planning, Shoot was merely shy. He preferred to sit back and watch and listen, trusting Knuckle to communicate what he needed to.

Killua and Nanika would likely describe them as the peak embodiment of the “excuse me, he asked for no pickles” couple dynamic.

“It’s the funniest story,” Knuckle was saying as he described how he and Shoot met. “I was in vet school, working part-time as a pizza delivery guy, and we get this order of, like, six pizzas to this house party on New Year’s Eve. Better tips on holidays, you know. And I get to the house, and knock on the door, and who else but this –” Knuckle flapped his hands to indicate Shoot. The man shook his head, though his pale skin tone gave away his blush almost immediately. “– this _angel_ opens the door. Hair down, cheeks all red, wearing a Yorknew Med t-shirt and jeans –”

“You remember what I _wore?”_ Shoot interrupted, flushing even darker.

“Of course!” Knuckle declared. “It was love at first sight!”

“You’re a sap,” Shoot teased fondly.

“Maybe so,” Knuckle agreed, nodding. “But Shoot here hadn’t ordered the pizzas, so he didn’t have the cash on hand. But it was cold, so he asked me to come inside and follow him while he looked for whoever ordered them.”

“Completely neglecting to tell me they were already paid for online,” Shoot slipped in dryly.

“I was hoping for good tips,” Knuckle insisted.

“You were hoping for my _number.”_

“Column A, Column B,” Knuckle admitted. “It was my last order of the night anyway. And it worked!” He smiled at Shoot, his arm slung over the back of the couch and pressing against Shoot’s back. “And we’ve been together ever since. Through vet school, and nursing school, and late nights, and _so_ _many_ foster pets.”

Shoot rolled his eyes fondly. There was warm affection in his voice when he repeated, “You’re a sap.”

“Just for you,” Knuckle sang, poking Shoot on the tip of his nose. Shoot wrinkled his face like a cat and batted his hand away. Grinning, Knuckle turned back to the wedding planners. “Any other questions?”

Kurapika looked down at his page. For all of their… _energy,_ Knuckle and Shoot were a very put-together couple. They wanted an intimate outdoor affair for their ceremony, followed by a much larger party for the reception. They expected a total of sixty people maximum, most of them work friends and colleagues because the two came from small families. They were available to go over the wedding menu with the Zoldycks on Wednesday or Thursday afternoon of this week, or Monday morning of next, so Kurapika or Leorio could give the Zoldycks a call as soon as they left. Their dress code was semi-formal, a phrase Kurapika hated with every _fiber_ of his being because after fifteen years in fashion and design he _still_ wasn’t never quite sure what people meant by that, but, hey, it was all for the client.

“Yes, actually,” Kurapika said as he went over their notes. “What were you thinking regarding the venue?”

“Oh, right!” Knuckle cried, slapping himself in the forehead. “We were talking about it on the way in, that’s why I forgot – Shoot and I volunteer at this animal shelter out in the countryside. It’s right beside this huge, amazing park and nature trail. We wanted to have the wedding there. We’re still looking for a reception space, though.”

“Three Rivers Park?” Gon piped up, a rare treat when he was behind the camera. “Down off thirty-three west?”

“Yeah, that’s the one!” Knuckle cried, pointing at Gon with utter delight. “You know it!”

“Yeah, I’ve hiked it a couple times!” Gon replied. “Mostly solo, but a few times with my boyfriend and his family.” Kurapika and Leorio very carefully avoided grinning at each other at Gon calling Killua his _boyfriend._ “There’s a pet shelter out there?”

“Second Chance Farms!” Every single sentence between Knuckle and Gon seemed punctuated with exclamation points, a bevy of cheer and noise that Kurapika found as endearing as it was tiring. He swallowed a sigh and took a long drink of his coffee, because he was going to need every drop of caffeine he could get his hands on these next three weeks. Knuckle prattled happily on, explaining, “It’s this amazing no-kill shelter, they take in cats and dogs and small pets and exotic animals and such, and they have a big barn and pasture for horses and cows and pigs and such. They also do a lot of foster programs.”

“Every weekend I have to remind Knucks why we can’t have a pig in the apartment,” Shoot told them.

“Why not?” Gon asked.

“‘Cuz pigs are six hundred pounds, easy, and we live in a one-bedroom apartment on the eighth floor,” Shoot explained gravely.

“Means Shoot’s a lot easier to convince to foster kittens for a few days,” Knuckle stage-whispered with a conspiratorial wink.

“What do you do when you volunteer?” Leorio asked.

“Well, a lot of the animals they bring in are lost or abandoned,” Knuckle explained. “So I volunteer to give checkups, prescribe medications, and get any real information I can from the animal. I also do various surgeries as needed. Sometimes, if an animal is brought to us too sick or in too much pain, where their quality of life has deteriorated significantly, I bring them home for palliative care.” Knuckle sniffled loudly, a hand going to his face. “Sorry, sorry, I just get… all those _animals_ , you know, they’re so _small_ and _tiny…”_

Kurapika, completely thrown by the sudden flip in the emotional energy of the room, only passed Knuckle the closest box of tissues with an expression akin to panic in his eyes. Shoot sent him a thankful smile and placed the tissues in his partner’s lap, running his hand across his back.

“There, there, love.” Shoot smiled up at Knuckle, using his thumb to brush away a tear, and turned back to the rest of the wedding team to give Knuckle some time to compose himself. “I’m not a vet, but as a human nurse I can assist Knuckle sometimes if there’s no one else to cover. Otherwise, I walk the dogs, clean cages, launder bedding, stuff like that.”

“It sounds like very rewarding work,” Leorio said.

“Are you still accepting volunteers?” Gon asked. His voice sounded a bit thick with emotion – great, he and Knuckle were going to get along like a house on fire – but he seemed serene enough now.

“We are,” Shoot replied, looking pleasantly surprised. “Actually, the shelter’s annual adoption and donation drive is this weekend. You all should come.”

“You should!” Sadness handled, Knuckle returned to his normal level of exuberance, which seemed set at a permanent twelve. “Barktoberfest is only once a year, so we go all-out for it. Lots of people come with their own pets to have fun and socialize! There’s food, games, a pet costume contest…”

“And it’s very close to Three Rivers Park, so you can also look for spots for the ceremony,” Kurapika mused. “If you have a few moments to step away, of course.”

“Our volunteer shift ends at two, so that should work,” Knuckle said, rubbing his strong chin. “But you’ll want to get there early to look at the pets. We often bring in pets from other shelters during Barktoberfest, but we still end the day with an almost-empty shelter.”

Kurapika looked at Gon, who stared back with shining puppy-dog eyes, and at Leorio, who shrugged as if to say, _well, you know my answer_. Kurapika looked back at the couple and nodded.

“That sounds like an excellent plan. We’ll reach out to our catering team for availability and get back to you with tasting times. Unless anything comes up, we will see you on Saturday.”

The meeting drew to a cheerful, if albeit noisy, conclusion shortly thereafter. Kurapika pulled up his computer and sketchbook to start designing color schemes. Leorio did the same, although Kurapika could see he was distracted. He kept spinning his pencil between his fingers, his eyes staring sightlessly out the window.

“Is everything alright, Leorio?” Kurapika asked. Leorio blinked, looking like he was returning to himself after some time away.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “I was just thinking about something Knuckle said during the meeting.”

“Could you… elaborate?” Kurapika asked, trying his best to find the delicate line between respectful and honest. Leorio caught his meaning and sent him a knowing grin.

“When he was talking about meeting Shoot the first time,” he amended. “He remembers what he looked like? For real?”

“Why not? I remember what Killua was wearing,” Gon confessed. Kurapika and Leorio’s heads swiveled towards him as one.

“You do?” They chorused.

“Yeah,” Gon told them nonchalantly. He looked at them like they were somehow the idiots here, which Kurapika did not _disagree_ with, but he could not think of why Gon was giving them that bemused, endlessly patient expression. Kurapika envied the way Gon could be so open about his feelings. It would have taken Kurapika about three years and a lot of teeth-pulling to get him to admit something so emotionally vulnerable. But Gon only shrugged, saying, “White button-up rolled to the elbows, collar unbuttoned. Black jeans. Black apron. Silver studs in his ears. Cartilage piercing.” Gon flipped his phone over. Kurapika saw the screen light up on a selfie of them, Gon pressing a kiss to Killua’s cheekbone, Killua blushing cherry-blossom pink. Gon’s smile took on a faraway quality as he looked at the picture. “He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. How could I forget the moment we met?”

“You’re something else, Gon,” Leorio told him, shaking his head indulgently. “A big sweetheart.”

“Just following Aunt Mito’s advice,” Gon chirped. “‘Be honest and kind, and good things will come your way.’ I was honest with Killua about my feelings, and that’s how he and I were able to get here.”

Kurapika’s guilty, defensive conscience found this statement a _little_ targeted, so he quickly changed the subject. “Gon, you mentioned earlier that you had something to share with Leorio and me?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah,” Gon remembered. “Bisky told me that some of the higher-ups wanted to see a bit of what we have so far, so I put together a short ten-minute video of what we’ve done so far. Nothing too fancy.”

“Oh, neat,” Leorio said. “D’you know why they wanted it?”

Gon shrugged. “No idea. Sorry for not asking.”

“No harm done,” Kurapika replied, shaking his head.

In the rush of early wedding planning, he forgot the conversation by the end of the day. Kurapika doubted there was anything these executives could do that would affect _him._

~

The first weekend in October dawned with the kind of beautiful, sunny bluster that movies salivated over. The trees glowed in the golden autumn sunlight. When the wind kicked up, their burnt orange and scarlet leaves floated up in high swirls. They _crunched_ satisfyingly underfoot, Kurapika was pleased to notice when he got out of his car on the bright Saturday morning. The air smelled fresh and clean, completely unlike the bustling city they left behind an hour ago. The parking lot and highway shoulders were filled with bumper-to-bumper cars parallel parked, and the din of the festival only grew louder as he, Leorio, and Gon approached.

Gon was practically vibrating as he walked, clearly trying not to sprint across the two-lane highway and dive into literal dogpiles. He broke when he caught sight of the Zoldycks a ways up the road, surrounding an enormous Bernese Mountain Dog who was just having the _best_ day. Kalluto, Killua, and Nanika were covering the dog in pets, but Alluka saw them coming and stood to her full height to beckon them over.

“There he goes,” Leorio observed cheerfully.

“In a puff of dust,” Kurapika added. He sipped his drink, grateful for the way it kept his hands warm. He ignored the dubious look Leorio was giving him out of the corner of his eye.

“I still can’t believe you can drink that.”

Kurapika took another sip, a silent protest and dare that said, _bite me._ “It’s delicious.”

“It smells like a candle.”

“So does yours!”

“The best kind of candle,” Leorio agreed, smirking as he drank more of his hot spiced cider. The wind blew again, ruffling his hair and blowing against his jacket, making his cheeks go red. Kurapika was excited to see him covered in animal hair, because it was _unfair_ , how handsome he was.

But he could not say that, so Kurapika simply drank more of his pumpkin spiced latte. They caught up with the Zoldycks as they finally untangled themselves from the dog. Gon pulled a package of dog treats from his pocket and gave one to the dog with the owner’s permission. Killua watched this exchange with an expression so tender that Kurapika wondered if they ought to look away. Gon returned to his full height, beaming at them all and wrapping an arm around Killua’s waist, craning his head up to press a kiss against Killua’s cheek.

“Gross!” Alluka cried. She turned to Kurapika and Leorio. Rolling her eyes, she shared, “They’re like this _all the time.”_

“I believe it,” Leorio agreed. He looked both ways across the two-lane highway. “Well, c’mon, let’s get out of the road. Those dogs aren’t going to pet themselves.”

“You’re such a _dad,”_ Kalluto sniffed, but they followed Leorio’s lead towards the large, one-story building and sprawling fields.

“I resent that,” Leorio replied, sounding anything but. “I aim for peak _cool uncle_ energy.”

“You missed,” Killua and Gon said in tandem. They looked at each other in utter delight and broke down into giggles.

“You two are terrible influences on each other,” Leorio complained.

“All three of you are insufferable,” Nanika said cheerfully. She whirled around from her position in the lead, walking backwards to face all of them. “What are the rules today?”

“Don’t steal the dogs,” Kalluto and Alluka chorused.

“Or?”

“The cats.”

_“Or?”_

_“Any_ animals,” Kalluto said irritably as they stepped onto the Second Chance Farms property proper. “Want us to list them all? No dogs, no cats, no rats, no rabbits, no mice, no pigs, no horses.”

“And the second rule?” Nanika asked imperiously. Kurapika met Leorio’s eye and hid his laugh in the rim of his take-out cup.

“No adoptions without consulting everyone,” Alluka said. She rolled her eyes. “Who made _you_ the drill sergeant? Killua’s the one who made us make these rules.”

“Killua did when he went all ooey-gooey the second Gon showed up. No offense, Gon,” Nanika added.

“None taken!” Gon replied cheerfully. Killua looked a little more miffed, but he did not seem inclined to argue when Gon swung their entwined hands cheerfully between them. “You’re looking for a pet today?”

“We know ourselves,” Kalluto said cryptically. The walkway opened up into a large lawn in front of the shelter, and Kurapika paused for a few moments to take everything in. Dozens of pop-up stands sat in rows, proffering their pet wares, treats, food, art, and other products. Another line of stands offered food for human consumption, as well. And everywhere he looked were _dogs_ , big and small, yappy and silent giants, fluffy and not. Some wore early Halloween costumes, and others did not. All had lolling tongues and bright eyes and wagging tails.

“Oh, this is heaven,” Leorio observed happily. He downed the rest of his drink and threw it into a nearby trash can, ostensibly to free up his hands for multi-dog petting purposes. A passing Great Dane nosed at his hip, and after an indulgent nod from the owner, Leorio knelt down to pet the dog. “Are you here to usher me into heaven, Peter?”

“His name is Clifford,” Kurapika told Leorio, reading the nametag on the dog’s collar.

“Ignore him,” Leorio told the dog. “He’s got no sense of humor. He doesn’t appreciate my jokes.”

“I appreciate you plenty.” Kurapika rolled his eyes, trying not to go red at the candid statement. He _did_ appreciate Leorio, in all ways innocent and not, but he did not need Leorio learning that today. He looked around the crowd. “And… we’ve already lost the Zoldycks.”

“They’ll turn up,” Leorio assured him. He pet Clifford the Great Dane one more time and thanked the owner for their time. He returned to his full height, wiping his hair-and-drool covered hands on the thighs of his pants. Tragically, the dog hair only made him look sweeter and more approachable. He was a freak of nature in all the best ways. “C’mon, let’s keep walking. I want to see all the animals.”

“It’s not a petting zoo,” Kurapika reminded him.

“I know, but these poor animals live in little boxes,” Leorio said. “I’ve no doubt they’re well taken care of here, but that’s got to be hard.”

“Are _you_ going to adopt a pet today, Leorio?” Kurapika teased. He finished his drink, as well, and tucked his now-free hands into his pockets.

Leorio shook his head with a laugh. “I wish. Can’t, with the lease. Believe me, if I could have, I would.”

“Hm.” Kurapika had never really thought about having a pet. Maybe he thought it would have really solidified his “single and maybe just a _little_ lonely” vibe people (read: Pairo and Melody) insisted he gave off. “Do you prefer cats or dogs?”

“Dogs,” Leorio said immediately. A passing Westie nosed at his ankle, as if in example, and Leorio blew the little thing a kiss as their owner gently tugged them away with an apologetic smile. “But I like cats almost as much. There were alley cats all over when I was growing up. Serena, Azelio, Altea, and I fed them when we could. We’d have adopted some, I’m sure, but Lita and Emilio are super allergic.” Kurapika smiled to think of a teenaged Leorio coaxing a hungry, feral alley cat from a pile of trash with a can of wet food. And succeeding, the irrepressible bastard. “How about you?”

“Cats, I think,” Kurapika said. They meandered around the crowd. Leorio stopped to pet every dog he could, usually dragging Kurapika to his level for pets as well, heedless of Kurapika’s half-hearted protestations about the way the dry grass, fur, and mud was staining his dark jeans. But Leorio was grinning, effervescent in the sun, and Kurapika found all he could do was smile back.

“Inside?” Leorio asked after about an hour of wandering. Kurapika, covered in eighteen different shades and breeds of dog hair, nodded along happily. They long since lost sight of the Zoldycks and Gon, and the only sign they hadn’t run off into the woods was in flashes of Killua’s bright shock of hair and echoes of Gon and Alluka’s laughter.

Inside the shelter was moderately less crowded than the festival. The space was divvied up into various sections for the dogs, cats, small animals, reptiles, and birds. Kurapika approached the cats area, feeling Leorio follow close behind. He saw a familiar pouf of dark hair and heard a now-familiar voice as he approached.

“Hi, welcome, thanks for coming today – yes, our play rooms are open, you can walk right in! – oh, careful, sweetie, that cat’s a bit of a grouch, I don’t want you to get a warning scratch from him, let’s look over here, Stella’s a big old darling – yes, we are allowing adoptions today! Our standard adoption fee has been waived, although we do ask for a donation to the shelter be made instead – oh, hello!” Knuckle finally noticed Kurapika and Leorio’s approach and whirled around to face them. His face broke out into a cheerful grin that somehow seemed right at home in the crowded cat room. “Come in, come in! Sorry for the crowd, these poor cats are all getting a bit overwhelmed, but we’re hoping to send them all home today!” He looked between them. “Are you two looking for a pet?”

Kurapika’s guilty conscience immediately jumped to, _he knows, you unprofessional lout, he knows_ , but he simply smiled. “Not today, I think.”

“Well, come look around then,” Knuckle invited, waving an arm. “I’ve heard that phrase all day today, and everyone who said it all ended up making an adoption.”

“We’ll see,” Kurapika said noncommittally. He followed Leorio and Knuckle around the room, listening as the veterinarian explained the various histories and temperaments of the cats in the shelter. Here, a cantankerous old man who refused to eat until he was placed with an abandoned kitten, and then he purred hard enough to shake the farm to its foundations; a sweet set of inseparable twin sisters, two long-haired black cats that reminded Kurapika of Alluka and Nanika; a yowling, orange-and-white kitten named Creamsicle that pawed at passerby until Knuckle gently tucked his paw back between the bars with a coo. While Kurapika initially found it difficult to imagine Knuckle as a veterinarian, now that he saw him in action, it was impossible to imagine anything else. His lively nature relaxed in here, surrounded by animals, and Kurapika finally realized that for as loud an individual Knuckle was, what really defined him was his ability to _listen_. All of that, taken together, made him a very easy individual for a man like Shoot to fall in love with.

Knuckle pulled Leorio over to look at a cat that Leorio swore was the spitting image of an alley cat he fed growing growing up. He stepped back to let them speak, and then back again to let a family pass by. When he tried to return to Leorio and Knuckle, he felt something snag against the back of his gray pea coat.

With a frown, Kurapika turned around. Saw nothing. Looked further down in the large cage. Saw a cat sitting on its haunches, staring expectantly up at him.

It was a _beautiful_ ragdoll cat, large and fluffy, with dusky gray fur around the face, the tips of its ears, all four paws, and at the end of a tail that could double as a feather duster. Big blue eyes the size of quarters stared imperiously up at Kurapika.

“Can I help you?” Kurapika asked the cat. He looked to the side at the cat’s information. _Emperor, Ragdoll, estm. 6 years old, male, neutered, not declawed (Second Chance does not declaw pets)._ “Emperor?”

Emperor the cat blinked up at Kurapika and released a long mewl. Kurapika folded his arms down at him. Emperor stretched luxuriously, fluffy standing on end and back arching.

“Is that so?” Kurapika asked, lips twitching. Emperor mewled again, loud enough that Knuckle and Leorio turned around. Knuckle looked amazed, already starting his approach, and Leorio smiled knowingly at him.

“No way!” Knuckle said eagerly. “Emperor has been here for over a month, he was surrendered by an older couple that wasn’t able to properly take care of him anymore. He’s been a grumpy old coot the whole time, refuses to leave his cage for anyone. He just started meowing at you?”

“I think he pawed at the back of my coat,” Kurapika admitted. He turned around as if to prove it.

“Whoa, hey!” Knuckle cried. He plucked a long white hair from his coat and held it up. “He sure did! You know what that means.”

“Do I?” Kurapika asked. Leorio leaned against the wall next to the cage. Emperor’s ears flicked in Leorio’s direction, but he kept staring implacably up at Kurapika.

“Means he’s going home with you,” Leorio teased. He grinned at Kurapika, dimple flashing.

“Is he?” Kurapika asked. He looked down at the cat. At the, admittedly, absolutely adorable cat. With his little paws and little nose and his flicking tail and _oh, oh dear, Kurapika was not a softie but he was already melting for this cat._

“Yep.” Leorio’s grin widened as he sing-songed, “‘Not today, I think.’”

“Shut up.”

“Never, sunshine.”

Knuckle spoke up, reading the cat’s paperwork aloud. “He’s in good shape. Good teeth, his shots are up-to-date, a little arthritis in his tail from an old break, not that you can see it when he’s eighty percent fur. He’s been insisting on wet food only, but that might be a product of being a spoiled little boy rather than anything else.”

Emperor mewled again, sounding offended. Kurapika glared down at him. “I don’t care for that tone.”

The cat made another sound, quieter this time. Oh, no, Kurapika was already talking to it. Oh, no, the cat was _listening._ Leorio snickered next to him.

“Want to pet him? Knuckle asked.

“Sure,” Kurapika found himself saying, instead of _no thanks_. Knuckle unlatched the door, making soft sounds at Emperor. The cat allowed himself to be lifted up, expression as close to a frown as a cat could be. Kurapika nervously held out his arms for the cat, wondering – _how do you hold it? Like a baby?_ – and then he had an armful of white cat.

“Oh,” Kurapika mumbled. The cat was a soft, warm weight against his shoulder, paws ducked daintily against his gray coat and red scarf. There was a buzzing sound in Kurapika’s ears, and after a few moments he worked out that Emperor was _purring_ , vibrating like a little motorboat. Kurapika tried to adjust him and the cat only clung tighter. Something hot coiled in his chest and he looked helplessly up at Leorio. _“Oh.”_

Leorio’s soft eyes had the nerve to _twinkle_ , the beautiful sonofabitch. “Always knew you’re a big softie.”

“Am not.”

“The fuzzball purring up a storm in your arms might beg to differ.”

Kurapika stuck his tongue out at him. Leorio returned the gesture. Knuckle cleared his throat, which was an acceptable attempt at covering up his snicker at their expense.

“If you like,” Knuckle started, “We can come back later. Give you some time to think about it. I’m off soon, anyway, so we can catch up with Shoot and head to Three Rivers.”

Kurapika looked down at the purring bundle in his arms. Blue eyes stared up at him. Kurapika found himself asking, “Will he be here when I come back?”

“Probably,” Knuckle said. He grinned. “He’s been cranky with everyone else I’ve seen. I think you’re good for an hour.”

“Plus you wanted some time to think it over,” Leorio reminded him gently. He reached over to rub his fingers over Emperor’s head, the back of his hand brushing Kurapika’s neck. He clenched his jaw and tried not to shiver.

“Yeah,” Kurapika agreed slowly. It would be wise not to adopt a pet on a whim, even if it was an adorable, cantankerous little thing. Slowly, he relinquished the cat and returned him to Knuckle. The cat glared soundlessly at Kurapika, as if communicating, _I know you’ll be back, asshole._ The three men left the room to meet Shoot and the Zoldycks by the trails.

The noise of the festival tapered off as the trio approached the tree line. Kurapika could not get over how _beautiful_ the day was, with its cloudless blue sky and colorful trees and cheerfully whistling wind. He tipped his head back to take in the day, breathing in deep and enjoying the way the breeze ruffled his hair. He might have missed this, had he not joined this wedding show, had he not allowed himself to take a break and have fun and not _work_ all the time.

No, this show was as far from the career-ending disaster Kurapika feared it might be as possible. He took a chance, something he so rarely did, and was rewarded for it. Creatively, professionally, mentally, emotionally. He braced his mind for the possibilities, but he found his heart cracked open, as well. In all of the best and worst ways.

The worst, walking in step beside him, chatting amiably with Knuckle and catching Kurapika’s gaze, his smile bright enough to rival the sunny day.

The best, spread over the path ahead, the Zoldyck family (and Gon) laughing and enjoying the day. And they had a new companion, it seemed.

“Oh, my God,” Leorio muttered as they approached. There was a _dog_ racing eagerly across the field to fetch a beat-up tennis ball, legs pumping so fast they were almost a blur. “We were gone _an hour_ at most!”

“Try two, old man,” Killua called back. The dog dropped the ball at Alluka’s feet, and she rubbed the top of the dog’s head, pressing little kisses to its forehead.

“No way,” Knuckle yelped. “Is that Lilla?”

“It is!” Nanika said as they arrived. “Isn’t she amazing?”

Lilla was indeed… a dog, Kurapika supposed. She was a pit bull, her white coat mottled with brown spots. She had a white dog-smile and big brown eyes. Leorio let out a small gasp of joy and sat cross-legged on the ground to greet the dog.

“Hello, beautiful!” Leorio cooed. He held out his hand to sniff. Lilla snuffled at it before carefully nuzzling into Leorio’s palm, because of course she would, because _of course_ every person and animal in a five-mile radius gravitated towards Leorio’s magnetic field. “What a sweet girl you are!”

“Love at first sight,” Nanika said happily. She pet Lilla’s head, lifting up the dog’s leash. “We walked into the dog kennel area and saw her huddled up under a blanket. Just her little nose sticking out. Kalluto sat in front of her cage until she came out.”

“Adorable,” Leorio agreed. “Kurapika found himself a keeper, too.”

“Duh,” Alluka said. Nanika stepped on her foot, and Alluka loudly corrected, “Beeeeeee-cause you seem like such an animal lover! What caught your fancy?”

Smooth like crunchy peanut butter.

“A cat,” Kurapika said. He turned to Knuckle and Shoot, refusing to blush. He ordered every individual red blood cell in his body to stay where the hell it was. “Shall we? Show us some spots that caught your eye for the ceremony.”

Their group took off down the winding trails. They filled the autumn air with laughter, banter, bickering, barking. Lilla nosed at every passing log and half-turned stone, her tail going so fast Knuckle worried she might sprain it. To Kurapika’s surprise, Knuckle and Shoot fit into their group well. It was more than the casual friendliness of Menchi and Buhara or Ponzu and Pokkle; Kurapika had a feeling, judging by the way Gon asked a million questions about volunteering and Kalluto and Shoot seemed to hit it off discussing origami of all things, that this couple might stick around even after the wedding bells. Leorio seemed to think the same thing.

“Have you thought more about where you might want to host the reception?” Leorio asked when the conversation petered off.

“Kind of?” Knuckle said. “We want something relatively close by. There was this great restaurant nearby Shoot and I went to for an anniversary a little while ago, this gorgeous repurposed farmhouse.”

“Holy _shit,”_ Alluka squeaked, almost tripping over nothing. _“Something for Everyone?”_

“Yeah, that!” Knuckle said. “Why, you know it?”

“We _own_ it!”

“No fuckin’ way!” Knuckle clapped. He whirled around so he could meet Shoot’s eyes, walking backwards. It was a wonder his smile didn’t split his face in half. “Well, that does it!”

“Would you like to schedule a walk-through?” Kurapika asked. Knuckle exchanged another look with Shoot, communicating telepathically as they always did.

To Kurapika’s pleasant surprise, Shoot was the one who answered. “Sure. Not because we doubt it’s as lovely as we remember, but to help with decorations and such. When works for you all?”

They spent a few minutes coordinating schedules, which Kurapika had learned months ago was practically half of the job. Then they arrived at a few spots where the couple was interested in hosting their ceremony, so they split into two groups. Knuckle and Shoot led Kurapika and Leorio on a walk around, taking in a wide, grassy field, an enormous wooden gazebo, and a smaller, more intimate forest clearing where the orange trees created a domed canopy filtering in soft, golden rays.

But Kurapika’s personal favorite was the fenced gulley overlooking a gorgeous waterfall. Stone cliff faces towered above them, their ragged slate walls descending down to the flowing river below. The trees swayed above them, rustling leaves blending into the dull roar of the falls.

“Wow,” Kurapika breathed. Knuckle nodded mutely at his side.

“I forget how beautiful this area is sometimes,” he confessed. “But every autumn I’m reminded.”

“I’ve never really been hiking,” Kurapika shared. “It never really appealed to me, until now, and I was always too…” _busy. Focused. Narrow-minded._

He glanced up at Leorio, admiring the smile on his face as he took in the scenery. _I never met anyone I wanted to just… Be, with._

“I think Shoot and I are going to look around more,” Knuckle said, interrupting Kurapika’s train of thought. “Decide where to actually have the ceremony.”

“Of course,” Kurapika said. “Take your time. We’ll be here.”

Knuckle’s reply was lost to the wind and water. With a quiet sigh, Kurapika braced his weight against the railing, peering down to the gulley floor below.

“How can you do that?” Leorio asked. “Gives me vertigo if I look straight down.”

“Are you afraid of heights, Leorio?” Kurapika teased. 

“Not _afraid_ , just… possessing a healthy degree of caution,” Leorio replied. He settled his hands flat on the wood but kept his elbows locked, propping himself upright and away from the edge.

“So, afraid.”

“Shut up,” Leorio snapped with no heat, and Kurapika threw back his head and laughed. Leorio carried on, “In any case, I’m not as daring as those two knuckleheads down there.”

He pointed further down the trail, where Killua and Gon had split off from the others and were throwing rocks into the gulley. Kurapika and Leorio watched, unnoticed, as the pair kept hocking rocks as hard as they could, trying to hit the opposite cliff face. Kurapika knew Killua relaxed around Gon, but this was the first time he really saw it in action. Killua _glowed_ , his smile blinding and eyes sparkling, and for once Kurapika did not see the weight of his past pressing down on his shoulders. Killua looked like a star touched down to the earth, and Gon smiled at him as if he really had no idea it was his own gravitational pull that brought them together.

Killua chucked a rock and finally succeeded in at least getting it to hit the opposite bank of the river a hundred feet below. He flung his hands up in the air, cheering loudly, and Kurapika could only smile at their happiness.

Gon stared at Killua, smile soft and eyes softer. “Killua.”

“Hmm?” Killua asked, looked around for another rock to throw.

“I love you.”

Kurapika’s mouth dropped open. So did Leorio’s. He slapped his hand against Kurapika’s shoulder, like he might have missed Gon’s confession, and he had to quickly snatch his hand and press it against his bicep so he wouldn’t make any noise and disturb the scene in front of them. He felt like they were watching two skittish deer, and if one of them broke this spell, they might bolt.

Killua’s eyes flew wide, his cheeks blushing a worrying shade of _scarlet_ Kurapika could see from here. His mouth worked, opening and closing, but he did not produce any sound. At least nothing loud enough for them to overhear.

“You don’t need to say it back,” Gon went on easily. “If you’re not ready. That’s okay. But I do. I really, really do.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Killua mumbled, barely audible over the waterfall. “Of course I love you, too.”

Leorio did not cheer aloud, but it was a near thing. Kurapika managed to tug him away from the platform before he could reveal they eavesdropped on this confession. Leorio went easily, allowing himself to be pulled back into the forest proper.

“Did you see that?” He asked, quite unnecessarily. “That was adorable. I feel like I just watched the end of a Disney movie.”

“Nothing’s ending,” Kurapika reminded him. “Just… changing.”

“Hardly!” Leorio scoffed. “They’ve been like this since they met. Why would things change?”

“Because… because!” Kurapika argued, oddly flustered when Leorio laughed at _him_ now. “Sure, they’ve had their whole… _thing_ between them since they met. But putting it into words and actually _acknowledging_ it? That can change _everything.”_

“Hmm,” Leorio murmured thoughtfully. He glanced down at Kurapika, catching his gaze. “Maybe you’re right.”

_I know I’m right,_ Kurapika wanted to banter playfully, to pop the sudden bubble of tension blanketing them.

_Why are you looking at me like that,_ he wanted to ask, but was too afraid to.

_I’m not sure we’re talking about Killua and Gon anymore,_ he wanted to confess, but he did not, because what if he was _wrong._

“Hey!” Knuckle called, suddenly appearing in front of them like a very noisy apparition. “Shoot and I decided on a ceremony location, come look! Oh, sorry.” He blinked at the pair. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Interrupting–?” Kurapika started to ask before he realized what Knuckle was talking about. His hands were still tucked into the crook of Leorio’s elbow from his dragging, and Leorio had his free hand settled over the back of Kurapika’s. He jerked himself free as casually as one could when their entire body felt like it’d been lit aflame.

“Not at all,” Kurapika said quickly.

“Nope,” Leorio cheerfully echoed.

“Show us this ceremony location,” Kurapika asked, falling back on work to carry himself through this embarrassing moment. Quickly he added, “Please.”

If Knuckle and Shoot called bullshit, they did not say so. They spun around to drag the wedding planners back to the forest clearing Kurapika had guessed they would select, with its ethereal beauty and quiet grace.

“Ready to head back?” Leorio asked, grinning down at Kurapika. “There’s someone we need to see before we go.”

~

_**Kurapika:** I have someone I’d like you to meet_

_**Pairo:** we’ve already met leorio tho_

_**Altair:** hush i wanna meet this person_

_**Kurapika:** not a person  
**Kurapika:** [attachment: 1 image]_

_**Pairo:** OH MY_

_**Altair:** OH HELLO WHO IS THIS????_

_**Kurapika:** meet Emperor. he’s a ragdoll, as you can see, as well as a petty little snob._

_**Pairo:** so you’ll get along great.  
**Pairo:** what does leorio think of him?_

**_Kurapika:_ ** _he loves him  
_ _**Kurapika:** also, shut up_

_**Pairo: 😜** _

_**Altair: 😜** _

~

When Kurapika signed the adoption paperwork and sat through Knuckle’s verifiable lecture about how to make his new pet comfortable, he’d expected Emperor to hide in his closet or under his bed. But no: after acquainting himself with his litter box in the bathroom, and his food and water bowl at the foot of the bed, he gracefully jumped onto the comforter and settled himself up against Kurapika’s side. He daintily crossed his paws on his thigh and alternated watching the show on the TV and making halfhearted swipes at his dinner.

“No,” Kurapika told him. _“No,_ sir. You already ate.”

Emperor gave a disgruntled huff and settled back down to keep watching the latest season of _Nailed It_. Kurapika shook his head fondly, taking another bite of his dinner as his phone rang. He raised his eyebrows when he saw Melody’s name, but this was not the oddest time she’d ever called him.

“Melody!” Kurapika greeted cheerfully as he picked up, putting his manager on speaker phone. “Good evening! Have I gifted you with pictures of my cat?”

_“At least three dozen, yes,”_ Melody laughed, trying and failing to sound put-upon.

“Isn’t he cute?”

_“Yes, Kurapika, very cute,”_ Melody agreed patiently. _“Very soft. He’s very handsome.”_

“Yes, he is,” Kurapika cooed, scratching under Emperor’s chin. Blue eyes narrowed to pleased slits as he tilted his head back.

_“This job’s making you go soft,”_ Melody observed. Rather than annoyed, she seemed elated by this development.

Kurapika scoffed. “Am not.”

_“Are too,”_ Melody sang. _“In any case, this is actually about something different. It’s work-related.”_

“Isn’t everything?” Kurapika asked. “What is it?”

_“I received a call from Bisky earlier today,”_ Melody said. _“Seems she had a very fruitful conversation with some executives yesterday, and they got back to her today. Apparently no one in this city has a work-life balance.”_

“A shame,” Kurapika agreed dryly. “What about?”

A pause. Melody seemed to be turning over her thoughts, carefully formulating her sentences. Kurapika suddenly recalled the video Gon sent to Bisky and the rest of the Netflix executives. A sense a foreboding started drumming up behind his breastbone.

Carefully, he asked, “Melody?”

_“It’s good news,”_ Melody quickly assured him. _“They wanted an update about how things have gone so far, so Gon sent in a ten-minute video of your footage so far.”_

“What did they think?” Kurapika asked.

_“They loved it,”_ Melody said. _“Kurapika, they_ loved _it. They want to green-light a season two right now.”_

“They – what?” Kurapika gasped, sitting upright in bed and nearly upsetting his dinner. Emperor grumbled when he was jostled, but he simply rolled over onto his other side. “They do? We’re barely halfway through. We’ve got three more weddings to go.”

_“Yes, they’re positive,”_ Melody agreed. _“I haven’t seen the video myself, but it was described using words like ‘charming’ and ‘fun’ and ‘light-hearted entertainment.’ I’m not sure if they were talking about you, really, but…”_

“Don’t sound so surprised, Melody,” Kurapika said. He felt… he did not know how he felt.

Melody laughed, and something about the sound was off to Kurapika’s ears. He wondered if laughter was appropriate here. He wondered why it felt like it wasn’t. This was what he wanted, right? This was the tangible assurance that all of his fears were unfounded, _right?_ This was proof taking this job _wasn’t_ going to derail his career, it _wasn’t_ going to shatter relationships and bankrupt Netflix, it _wasn’t_ a mistake.

_“I never had a doubt,”_ Melody said warmly. _“You don’t need to sign right now, however. The renewal offer is available through the end of shooting, so you have until January to decide. Not sure why it might take that long, but I know you like to mull things over.”_

He did indeed. Kurapika made himself say, “Thank you, Melody.” He frowned, thinking, when another question occurred to him. “This would be with the same staff?”

Melody saw through him in an instant. _“Yes, Leorio’s also received this offer.”_

That… should have made Kurapika feel better. And it did. But it also didn’t.

_“Hmm, I can hear you thinking,”_ Melody said. _“Kurapika. Don’t get into your head about this.”_

“I’m not,” Kurapika replied, too quickly. Melody sighed from the other end of the line.

_“Of course,”_ she said agreeably. _“Just… I know what you can get like, once you think things are set a certain way. Maybe it’s a good thing that you have almost two and a half months to decide. So take it day by day, and do what you need to do to decide what’s best for you. What_ you _want.”_

What he _wanted?_ Kurapika really wasn’t sure. But if he thought about it, really, he was sure he could come up with a few things.

He was sure he wanted to stay. He was pretty sure he wanted Leorio to stay, as well. He was pretty sure he wanted _Leorio,_ period. He was positive he could not have both, for to ask for that would be… selfish, somehow. Greedy. Terrifying.

_Breathe,_ Melody told him a few weeks ago. _And trust it will be okay._

But trust who? Trust what? Leorio? Himself? The _universe?_ No, thank you.

“Thank you, Melody,” Kurapika said. “I’ll think on it.”

_“I know,”_ Melody agreed. _“Let me know if you need anyone to talk to. Good night, Kurapika. Give Emperor a treat from me.”_

The line went dead. Kurapika let his phone flop onto the bed, startling Emperor. The cat tilted his head and peered up at him before deciding that it was time for pets now, please and thank you, allow me to get comfortable in your lap. And Kurapika buried his hands in the soft fur, eyes staring unseeing at the muted TV, and he did not know how to feel.

But now there was a countdown forcing him to decide.

~

“Kurapika?”

“Hm?” Kurapika made a noise to show he was listening, as he was finishing his measurements for Knuckle’s suit. The man had some _bizarre_ , supremely athletic proportions, and Kurapika was already trying to think of a way to make a suit that would fit properly and not look ridiculous. Thank goodness Shoot was relatively normal: tall and skinny as he was, at least he was _proportional_ about it.

“Shoot and I were talking earlier,” Knuckle said, a little nervously. “About the wedding. And we realized we need your help with something.”

“Oh?” Kurapika asked. He met Leorio’s curious gaze around the man’s torso. Leorio gave a half-shrug to say, _beats me_. Kurapika quickly looked away from his work partner. “What’s that?”

He tried not to be too nervous. But the few times couples have asked for favors this far, they ranged from “please find this father figure who dropped off the map years ago” to “please meet us at the zoo for cake tasting, here are free tickets” to “please stop the brides from killing their own wedding guests.” So he did not have very high hopes for wherever this question was going.

“Well, we, uh, wanted to do the traditional first dance at the reception, you see,” Knuckle explained. “But we realized. We don’t know how to dance.”

Oh. Kurapika thought there was going to be an actual _issue_. Trying not to laugh or sigh in relief, because Knuckle was actually very adorable and very sweet, and Kurapika rather hoped he and Shoot would fall in with their friend group after the wedding, he said, “I see. Would you like lessons? I’m sure we can find someone to teach you two in the time before the day.”

“That’d be great!” Knuckle cried. His voice echoed in the space, and there was a dim _mrwol_ in reply as Emperor pawed at the closed sliding door separating Kurapika’s bedroom from the rest of the loft. He was still under modified house arrest as he “adjusted” to the new living environment. He grinned sheepishly, looking in the noise’s direction. “Emperor settling in well?”

“Very,” Kurapika agreed. “He’s very affectionate.”

“Clearly,” Leorio piped up. “He’s come in covered in cat hair all week. Kalluto can’t stop sneezing.”

“Ha, poor dude,” Knuckle laughed. “And about the dance stuff. It doesn’t need to be anything too fancy. Just a standard waltz, or something. We’re not big dancers, but for the wedding… we thought it’d be nice.”

“You’re welcome to join in, as well,” Shoot piped up. He looked between Kurapika, Leorio, and Gon with a small smile. “As well as the Zoldycks, if they like. I think Knuckle and I will be less nervous if there are others joining in.”

“That can be arranged,” Kurapika said. He looked to Leorio and Gon. “Thoughts?”

“I think I’ll step on your toes a lot,” Leorio admitted, “But otherwise, I’m down. Gon?”

Gon sent a wordless thumbs-up from behind the camera.

And that was how the Wednesday before the wedding (cutting it a bit too close to Kurapika’s comfort, personally, but it was the earliest the Zoldycks were all available that wasn’t the wedding day of) found the team, plus the soon-to-be-wed couple, standing in the main room of Silent Step Dance Studio. According to the website, the family-owned business offered lessons in ballroom, ballet, salsa, and flamenco, from beginner to advanced. Which was all well and good, even if the man that greeted them at the door was not quite what Kurapika pictured.

Hanzo was a loquacious young man whose volume was only matched by Knuckle, and perhaps Gon when he was playing video games. He was in his mid-thirties, bald, and surprisingly buff under his muscle tank and leggings. He wore a brace on his right ankle, but it did not seem to be giving him any trouble as he pranced around, welcoming them all, asking them to change into their dancing shoes (essentially, anything not worn on the street) and get warmed up. One wall of the studio was all windows, another all mirrors, and the two together meant there was enough natural light in the room that they did not even need to turn on the overhead lights. Kurapika watched Leorio stretch his arms over his head, defined muscles flexing in his back, shirt riding up to reveal a tan stripe of skin in the front, and he ducked his head and tied his shoes much more carefully than he otherwise might have. 

“Okay!” Hanzo announced, clapping his hands. “Roll call! Names, and if you have any prior dance experience. Groom one, go!”

Knuckle had not danced before, which was why they were all here. Same with Shoot. In fact, the only people who had any dance experience were Kurapika and the Zoldycks. Next they split into leaders and followers, at least to start with. Kurapika, Knuckle, Gon, and Kalluto would lead; the rest would follow. Kurapika found himself partnered with Nanika as they started a simple box step.

“I did not know you danced,” Kurapika said to Nanika. She snorted.

“All part of being a Zoldyck,” she said airily. “We were mother and father’s adorable little dolls to prance about at every political gala and house party they threw, so dancing and _etiquette_ lessons – gendered, of course – were par for the course.”

“I see,” Kurapika said. There was a sour taste in his mouth. “I… am truly glad that you left that behind, then.”

“Me, too,” Nanika agreed. She smiled up at him, and for the first time Kurapika realized that her eyes were not actually true black, but such a dark blue it was difficult to discern between the iris and pupil. “This is better.”

Kurapika chanced a more advanced step, bringing Nanika out into a spin under his arm and then pulling her back in. Nanika followed gracefully, shiny braids catching in the light. But the brightest thing in her room was her laugh when Kurapika sent her into a small dip.

“Show-offs,” Leorio called before he and Gon simultaneously stomped on each others’ toes. Hanzo quickly joined them to ascertain the damage.

“Thanks, Kurapika,” Nanika said softly. He almost didn’t hear her over the low waltz Hanzo played on the speakers.

“For what?” Kurapika asked, matching her tone.

“For… all of this, really.” Nanika jerked her chin, indicating the rest of the room. “For a long time after we cut ties with our family, the world felt… small. Dull.” She smiled brightly up at him. “Being part of this project… it’s like someone turned on the color again. My siblings and I can do what we do best, and we do it as our authentic selves. We get to make others happy, and they share that joy with us, in return. And so much of this show has been a celebration of love, which is great. But more than that, so much of it has been a celebration of _queer_ love. And I didn’t know how much I needed that until I was part of it.” Nanika glanced around the room again, her eyes lingering on Gon and Killua. “How much we _all_ needed that.

“Because of you, the world feels big and full of promise again. And our family has grown.” Nanika squeezed Kurapika’s hand. “So, thank you. For having us.”

Kurapika swallowed thickly. He had to blink rapidly to stop himself from crying all over a woman ten years his junior as he replied, “Thank you for joining me. For building this with me.” He met Leorio’s eye in the mirror, saw his unspoken concern at his unusually affected state. Kurapika sent him a placating smile and looked back down at Nanika. “With _us.”_

_My family has grown, too,_ Kurapika realized. _The world feels so much brighter and kinder now, with all of you in it._

_I don’t ever want to leave._

Before either of them really started bawling, Hanzo clapped his hands and had them change partners. Over the next half hour, Hanzo had them switch partners to practice with different people. He was a thorough, patient teacher, always appearing suddenly whenever someone struggled with a step. In the last ten minutes of their hour-long session, Hanzo declared some kind of “extended free dance practice,” which just seemed a bit much after the past forty-five minutes. And _of course_ he declared it when Leorio finally arrived in front of Kurapika.

More likely he did it because _Knuckle and Shoot_ were partnered, because they were the wedding couple and they mattered most here, but he digressed.

Leading with Leorio was an experience. Not a _bad_ one, just… different. Leorio was a full head taller than Kurapika, which meant his nose was level with his collarbone and the hollow of his throat. Kurapika was close enough to watch the way his pulse beat in his jugular. He wondered what it might be like to trail his tongue over the slope of his neck, suck a bright red mark into the muscle, and then he remember he was _in public, calm the fuck down._

“I didn’t know you danced,” Leorio told Kurapika. He stifled a laugh.

“Theater kid,” he said. “Pairo needed to learn to waltz for a show, and he had a live-in partner to harass into practicing. We ended up learning both lead and follow.”

“Makes sense,” Leorio said. He missed a step, making Kurapika stumble slightly. The hand braced on his shoulder caught him before he could do something embarrassing like face-plant into Leorio’s chest and maybe die there. “I haven’t danced, really, since… prom? Lita’s wedding? Not like this.”

“You dance?” Kurapika asked.

“At parties and clubs, maybe,” Leorio said. “Never like this. Even at weddings it was just. Hold in place and sway, you know?”

“I don’t,” Kurapika confessed. “I admit, I never thought much about that style of dancing. It felt like there was no rhythm or tempo.”

“There’s not,” Leorio laughed into his ear. “Dancing’s not _about_ that, you know? It’s about connection, trust, safety. Not keeping time and showing off.”

“Ballet,” Kurapika countered flatly, making Leorio sputter out a laugh. “Ballroom dance. Salsa.”

“Shut up,” Leorio said. “You know what I mean.”

_Yes._ “Barely.”

Leorio shook his head. “Maybe one day you will.”

Hanzo called for them to stop dancing. Kurapika peered up at him, at the flecks of green and gold in his eyes, at the curve of his long lashes. 

“Maybe,” Kurapika agreed, just on the wrong side of breathless, and he dropped Leorio’s hand.

~

Before Kurapika knew it, the wedding day arrived.

Their weeks of planning all came to a head with the morning, where Kurapika glued himself to the weather report. He anxiously refreshed the webpage over and over until Leorio patiently took his phone out of his hand and assured him there would be no freak, wedding-ruining storms today. No, it was destined to be another perfect autumn day, bright and sunny and breezy, a balmy sixty degrees. Kurapika wanted to be annoyed with Leorio, but he was too grateful the man seemed to know how to soothe his anxieties now to muster the energy for it. They would all need their energy that day, the team knew by now.

With the ceremony more or less in the middle of the woods, they all needed to arrive early to set up. Kurapika led Gon, Killua, and a cranky Kalluto in setting up the chairs, clearing the aisle, and getting the last of the little decorations put together. Leorio worked his magic and conjured a beautiful wedding arch from what seemed like twigs and leaves he found on the forest floor.

“Are you kidding me?” Kurapika demanded, half-joking but half-not, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “How? _How_ did you do that?”

“What, this?” Leorio asked. He sounded innocent, but the grin on his face was anything but. “Just a little something I whipped up.”

_A little something_ made of sturdy branches tied together with heavy white fabric, strong enough to keep the arch stable but light enough to rustle in the wind. One of the branches still had leaves on it, because Leorio was a madman but more so a brilliant designer, creating a natural shaded canopy and a riot of orange over the ceremony area.

“A little something, he says,” Kalluto grumbled. Kurapika wondered if they missed their bed or a proper cup of coffee more. “Like he’s making eggs. I hate him.”

“No, you don’t,” Gon said warmly.

“No, you don’t,” Killua echoed. “Because _I_ hate him.”

“You don’t hate him either, Killua.”

“I am _literally_ just doing my job,” Leorio shouted from his ladder, where he was securing the arch with inconspicuous black zip ties. “Kurapika, help me out here!”

Kurapika glanced up at him. He’d removed his jacket, probably to get greater range of movement and from the exertion. It was tied around his slim waist, and Kurapika’s eyes shamefully followed the flex of his back and arms as he reached up to make sure the arch was secure.

Kalluto coughed behind him, and Kurapika snapped himself out of his weird little spell.

“You seem to be doing well enough,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “We’re ahead of schedule, but we should head back to the house now to finish getting ready.”

“Thank _God,”_ Kalluto huffed, and they led the way back to the car.

There was no point wasting whole hours of their day driving into and out of the city, so the Zoldycks once again offered their house to let Kurapika, Leorio, and Gon clean up and dress for the wedding. Kurapika had a sneaking suspicion that there were more of Gon’s clothes in Killua’s closet than in his apartment back in Yorknew, but he had no way to know for sure. The house was a flurry of activity as the twins and Killua ran to the restaurant and back to check on things, taste-testing and making final decisions in the girls’ case and making sure the cake didn’t implode on Killua’s. Eventually, Gon forced Killua to relax by planting himself solidly in his lap, drowning out his protests in an enormous hug that squished Killua’s head against his chest. Kurapika and Leorio exchanged smirks.

“Your tie is crooked,” Kurapika observed, and he stepped closer to adjust the knot.

(Kalluto sat in the middle of it all in their self-made eye of the hurricane, sipping their drip coffee and looking absolutely above it all.)

And then there was Knuckle and Shoot and their respective wedding parties’ arrival and the associated chaos. As always, the suits fit like a dream, Knuckle in white and Shoot in burgundy. They hadn’t wanted anything fancy in the way of embroidery or other work, so Kurapika returned to the basics: well-tailored, clean lines. Shoot was as put-together as always as the ceremony approached, if a bit pale, but his small smile was genuine; Knuckle was so excited to get married that he couldn’t stop crying, and Pyon needed to half-smother him with a cold compress and enlist the combined strengths of cucumber slices, navy eyeliner, and her personal under-eye roller to reduce the swelling around his eyes.

But for all the excitement, the wedding went off without a hitch. At four o’clock on a sunlit afternoon, Knuckle Bine and Shoot McMahon became the McMahon-Bines. They exchanged their platinum rings, and the chains they would loop through their rings when these medical professionals were working, and Knuckle dipped his husband into a deep kiss to uproarious applause.

It seemed like Kurapika blinked, and the reception flew by. He was comfortable riding the organized chaos of thier receptions by now, jumping in to help the Zoldycks where needed and tending to a million little emergencies as they popped up (or, more often, heading them off when he could). Now, two and a half hours in, the meals were served, the cake cut, the dance floor overflowing, and Kurapika had a few minutes to escape for a bit of air and a breather.

He found himself up on the second floor, slipping through an unlocked door and standing on the balcony that overlooked the Menchi-Buhara wedding. The outdoor seating patio was swept clear for seating, but beyond that, Kurapika could admire the rolling hills that stretched as far as the eye could see. Red, orange, and brown leaves swayed noiselessly in the wind from this distance. In the evening sunset, everything took on a golden glow.

“You did well with them.”

Kurapika did not bother to be surprised when Leorio joined him at the balcony. He only smiled and accepted the hot apple cider the man offered. “So did you. As always.”

Leorio chuckled. He glanced down at Kurapika out of the corner of his eye. “Two more of these.”

The reminder that their season was coming to a close tolled like a bell in Kurapika’s ears. Two more weddings. Two more couples. Two more months. And then he would need to make a decision.

“I’m sure you know by now we were given a second season,” Kurapika started slowly. Leorio nodded slowly.

“Yeah. Signed the paperwork the next day.”

Of course he did. Kurapika swallowed twin waves of guilt and panic. “I see.”

Leorio was quiet for a few minutes. But he seemed to work out all of the undertows in Kurapika’s statement, because he replied, “You… haven’t, have you?”

Kurapika swallowed. “No.”

“Hmm.” Leorio had every right to ask _why_ , exactly, Kurapika was hesitating. But as the minutes passed, Kurapika only grew more grateful that he didn’t. Because they were colleagues, and friends, and they trusted each other. Leorio knew that if Kurapika had a problem with him, one that affected him so much he wanted to leave the show over it, he would have said so long ago. And Kurapika’s reason for not immediately renewing his contract had nothing to do with Leorio, really (except for all the ways it did). Leorio knew that Kurapika considered these things from every angle, that he took longer to make certain decisions, but when he did, his mind was set in stone and his path determined. Leorio knew that Kurapika had more professional opportunities beyond just the show. He left a whole world and community behind him when he joined this show, and with every season Kurapika was gone, it grew harder and harder to return.

(Or maybe Leorio did not really care at all, the pessimistic cynic in Kurapika offered.)

But then, apropos of nothing, Leorio asked, “D’you want to dance?”

Part of Kurapika descended into wordless screeching. Fortunately, the part that replied was not the one that melting down. _“My_ idea of dancing, or yours?”

“Well, I was _thinking_ mine,” Leorio huffed out, faux-annoyed. “But either works.”

Kurapika looked up at Leorio, at the way the sunset turned his skin to burnished gold and caught on the green and caramel in his eyes. He thought, _this is a mistake._ He thought, _this is only going to make your decision harder._

He held out his hand. “Sure. We’ll try it your way.”

And Kurapika was right. Because this was a mistake.

Because Leorio was warm, his hands callused and strong and gentle where they held his waist and cradled his hand. He smelled like the autumn night incarnate, like fresh, cold air and woodsmoke. He pulled Kurapika close until there were only inches between them, not holding him the way Knuckle did Shoot, or Gon did Killua, not like _lovers_ did – but this was more than friendly, more than platonic, right? _Right?_ They were swaying on the spot, Leorio leading them in small circles, and Kurapika felt dizzy. Like he was on one of those spinning carnival rides, his stomach swooping like on the first drop of a rollercoaster. He felt lightheaded like he had a fever again. Like he’d enjoyed one too many glasses of wine. He felt like a lightweight standing there, swirling and swaying, and it was only Leorio’s arms keeping him upright.

It was… nice. Very nice. _So_ nice. And it was _fun_ , talking quietly with Leorio about the wedding, and the couple, and Killua and Gon’s developing relationship. He felt safe here wrapped up in Leorio’s arms. Like Leorio would never let anything happen to him. Like Leorio knew Kurapika could protect himself, could handle anything life threw his way, but he was going to be there through all of it anyway, because he _wanted_ to. He felt peaceful and happy and _adored_ and oh, _no_ , he did see what all the hype was about. The song from downstairs faded, their slow music box spins finally halting, but they did not move. Kurapika swallowed thickly, keeping his eyes focused on the still-crooked knot of Leorio’s tie. The green silk one.

For five endless seconds, they were blanketed in silence, neither meeting the other’s gaze, but not dropping their entwined hands, either. Kurapika watched Leorio’s pulse flutter like a hummingbird in his neck. Leorio stared over his head to look over the rolling countryside. Kurapika inhaled a silent breath that rattled his chest.

_You fool. This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair to him. You need to make a decision._

_How could I ever want to leave him?_

_How could I stay?_

Leorio finally pulled away, gently setting Kurapika’s hand down. He smiled down at him. “See?”

_See WHAT,_ Kurapika wanted to demand. But he only nodded.

“I’ll go check on the party.” Leorio took a step back, his hands sliding into his pockets. Kurapika wanted to ask him to stay. He wanted to ask if this was just him, if it was even possible to feel yearning and lust and _awe_ like this and it _not_ be mutual. But Leorio just nodded at Kurapika’s abandoned cider. “Drink’s getting cold. I’ll see you inside.”

He left. And Kurapika watched his retreating form, a hand going to his mouth as if that would stop the way his heart was trying to leap out of his throat.

_Two more months._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there we go!!!!! the other 10% was angst. sorry about that. i am also sorry that the angst is going to get worse before it gets better. i believe the word is "bittersweet." a few notes!
> 
> 1\. Barktoberfest is based on a real-life event at a real-life shelter in my area! they have it every year (except last year rip) and it is. amazing. adorable. life-changing.
> 
> 2\. the autumn imagery is based on the splendor that is upstate new york in the fall. the entire time i was growing up, my mother told me there was nothing on earth like fall in upstate ny. and when i came up for college, i learned she was right. 
> 
> 3\. the waterfall is also based off a real place!! i may post a pic of it later bc it is Incredible.


	9. the death of a bachelor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the penultimate couple arrives. tensions rise. and kurapika comes to a world-shattering realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, all! a slightly shorter - "shorter" - chapter this week. thank you all for your patience!!!!
> 
> this chapter title is taken from ["death of a bachelor," by panic! at the disco.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R03cqGg40GU) yes, i changed this title at the literal last second.

“I. Hate. _All_ of you.”

The kitchen filled with giggles and snickers. Kurapika bit down hard on his lower lip to stifle his laughter.

“I can’t imagine what you mean.”

Leorio spun around on him. His long, red cape flowed with the movement. Kurapika might have cracked a rib from swallowing the sound that wanted to escape.

Killua and Gon, of course, made no such considerations. They leaned into each other, cackling hard enough to rattle the windows.

“You look like the bouncer at a vampire nightclub!”

“You look like a rug came to life and fucked another rug!”

“You look like Oscar Wilde’s less-known, less-fuckable brother!”

“Vampires don’t even _have_ horns!”

“Enough!” Leorio shouted, going red in the face. He yanked the plastic horns off of his head and chucked them at the peanut gallery. Gon yelped and ducked, but Killua deftly caught the horns with one hand and stuck out his tongue. He slipped them onto Gon’s head, pressing his lips against his temple.

“You suck, old man.”

Kurapika sighed. “How is it _I’m_ the one getting the food ready? I don’t even live here.”

Leorio scowled but approached Kurapika to offer his assistance. He looked patently ridiculous in his red cape, plastic vampire teeth with fake blood dripping from his lips, smeared black eyeliner (okay, Kurapika thought _that_ was more than acceptable), and a lace doily repurposed as a cravat. He looked all the more ridiculous for the fact that he was the only one in a costume.

(The story: Kalluto posted in the team group text that their family was hosting a Halloween party at their house, and they were all expected. Costumes were required. Ten seconds later, Killua created a separate chat of all of them minus Leorio and sent, _lmao so no one is wearing a costume, right?_

The rest was history.)

“Because I already made cookies and decorated them, and now we’re just waiting on Alluka and Nanika to get back and give their okay to start eating.”

Kurapika sighed, looking over the spread across the kitchen island. A charcuterie board, a “blood punch” that left him deeply suspicious, a “spider web” five-layer dip, deviled eggs that looked like little pumpkins, “mummy” hot dogs, candied and caramel apples with various toppings to dip, sugar cookies iced with pumpkins and bats. The Zoldycks put his own vegetable platter to shame (and really, Killua had asked earlier, who ate _vegetables_ on Halloween?) (Kalluto, Nanika, and Alluka all slapped him simultaneously for that one). Leorio did not even bother to try and came bearing apple cider fireball and glow-in-the-dark, “radioactive” jell-o shots he stole from his sister.

“I didn’t know you were a frat brother, Leorio,” Kurapika observed, eyeing the tray dubiously.

“Ha,” Leorio snarked. “Serena was experimenting with jell-o shots for Halloween drinks for the club. She works tonight. These were left over.”

“How strong are they?” Gon asked, picking up an apple cider one.

“Hell if I know,” Leorio said. “So be careful –”

Gon slurped down the shot like _he_ was the frat brother. Shrugging, Killua picked up a neon-blue cup and downed it as well. Leorio threw his hands into the air, giving up.

“– with how fast you eat them! Whatever! Your livers.” He looked at Kurapika. “You want some?”

“I’ll have dinner first,” Kurapika said dryly. The front door banged open as Alluka and Nanika returned from triple-checking the kitchen again, bringing in the crisp fall air into the house. It was barely six, but the sky was already dark, the half-dozen pumpkins on the front porch lit and the myriad orange and purple string lights in the living room plugged in. The fire in the fireplace was lit in a cheerful crackle of flame. The TV above was on as Kalluto played video games, because they did the work organizing and getting everyone there, thanks, they were going to spend their Saturday parked on their couch playing _Horizon Zero Dawn_ on Expert. Also, Lilla was sitting on their lap, snoring softly, so they legally could not move if they wanted to.

“Everything ready?” Alluka asked as she barreled into the room. She scooped up a deviled egg and popped it into her mouth. “Nani, these are so good!”

“You act like you’ve never had a deviled egg,” Nanika sniffed. She picked up the egg platter and charcuterie board to move them into the living room. Killua and Gon grabbed their own platters, leaving Leorio and Kurapika in the kitchen to bring the last of the food.

“Are you really upset?” Kurapika asked. Leorio looked up from the veggie platter, carrot crunching in his mouth.

“What? No way. It’s a good prank. But I know half the fun of something like this is in the reaction, so I played it up a bit.” He looked down at himself. “So, I felt a bit silly when I arrived. They thought it was funny. I’ll survive.”

Kurapika ducked his head to hide his smile. “I admit, I felt rather like I was the one lacking the holiday spirit when you showed up in a costume.”

“That so?” Leorio asked, grinning roguishly. He reached up to his neck, fingers making quick work of the buttons and doily.

“What are you doing?” Kurapika asked, his eyes glued to the elegant flick of Leorio’s hands and the way he unwound his white cravat with businesslike grace. The expanse of his tanned throat was downright _obscene_ in the middle of this family kitchen.

“Sharing,” Leorio replied, all innocence, though the vampire fangs gave the gesture a dash of mischief that made Kurapika’s stomach _clench_ like someone had crushed it in their fist. He was frozen on the spot when Leorio untied his cape and, in a showman’s flourish, swooped it onto Kurapika’s shoulders. He carefully knotted the strings, fingers too close and too far from Kurapika’s overheating skin. Leorio winked down at him. “‘Tis the season.”

“People usually say that about the _holidays_ ,” Kalluto’s droll voice interrupted. Kurapika almost jumped out of his skin; dammit, how could they move so _quietly?_ “But that’s a good look, Kurapika. You coming to watch the movies?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Leorio said. He stepped away from Kurapika and grabbed the last few platters of food. “We’re coming.”

Kurapika followed, carrying his vegetable tray with a stubborn set to his mouth and a pointed glare at Killua. There was little room for everything on the coffee table, but after some finagling he managed to slide his nigh-untouched veggie platter on the farthest edge of the table from the enormous sectional. The massive, u-shaped couch had enough space for eight. Killua and Gon stretched out over one arm of the U, Killua lounging against the butter-soft leather, Gon wrapped up in his arms and leaning against his chest. They were tucked up in an enormous fluffy blanket. Kalluto, Alluka, and Nanika had taken their comforters and pillows and made a nest on the floor in front of the coffee table. In the middle of the couch, Lilla still dozed, tired out from a long walk and play session the Zoldycks went on with her earlier that day. She, too, was snoozing under her own blanket. Her exhales came out in little snores. Leorio sat on the last available branch of the couch, long legs stretched out across the cushions. The only available space was between him and Lilla, almost on his lap.

Kurapika was at least ninety-eight percent sure the Zoldycks did this on purpose.

But he sat down, settling into the cushions. Leorio offered some of his blanket, and Kurapika accepted it, painfully aware of the bare two inches between their bodies. He ignored the twin blue- and brown-eyed stares from the other side of the couch.

Kalluto got to their feet. “Are we all ready?” they announced. “Last-minute bathroom breaks? Need any snacks, pillows, blankets? Want to put on something more comfortable?” They sent Kurapika and his jeans a significant look. Kurapika smiled back and stayed where he was.

“Fine,” Kalluto huffed. “Welcome to the annual Zoldyck Halloween Movie Marathon. Thank you all for coming. Prepare for an all-nighter of terror, snacks, and booze. Our first film on the docket is _The Conjuring_. The first person to fall asleep cooks breakfast, guest or not.”

_“Kallutoooo,”_ Alluka whined. “I _hate_ scary movies! I thought we were watching _Hocus Pocus_ or _Halloweentown!”_

“That’s boring, though,” Killua said.

“You just want to cuddle with Gon,” Nanika said, painstakingly assembling a tiny sandwich out of cheese, salami, and some herb crackers.

“Shut _up!”_ Killua screeched loud enough to shatter the sound barrier. Lilla squeaked, her head perking up.

“You can cuddle me anytime,” Gon reminded Killua, craning his neck back to kiss just under Killua’s pointed chin. Kurapika could see Killua’s furious blush even in the dim light. He exchanged knowing looks with Leorio.

“Are we done bitching?” Kalluto asked, sitting back down at last. Alluka held out her arms to Lilla, making kissing noises, and Lilla got off the couch to cuddle up next to her under the blankets.

“We are not bitching,” Alluka said in a baby-talk coo, scratching under Lilla’s chin. Her eyes closed and her tail happily thumped against the couch base. “We just don’t all like horror movies, and _some_ of us consider other peoples’ feelings. Lilla and I will just hide in the blankies for the next three hours, won’t we? Won’t we, baby girl?”

“Good,” Kalluto said mercilessly, and they hit _play._

Kurapika, generally speaking, did not enjoy horror movies. He disliked gore and blood; he thought the genre had a tendency to romanticize sexuality and violence in a way he found distasteful at best; he _knew_ the genre relied heavily on stereotypes and misconceptions about mental health as the crux of many of their plotlines.

But this was… nice. It wasn’t _Hocus Pocus_ , but the ambiance in the room gave almost the same feeling. The room was lit by the fire and some pumpkin pie-scented candles (they unplugged the string lights for the movies). The snacks were delicious. The punch tasted like raspberry and strawberry, but whatever else was in it made Kurapika’s head swim. He stretched his legs out over the couch, letting himself relax. Enjoy – _“enjoy”_ – the movie, in all of its mind-numbing glory.

As the hours passed, he felt the way the two inches between him and Leorio shrunk to one, then to nothing, their sides pressed together from ankle to knee, from knee to hip, from shoulder to elbow. Around the third movie, his lids grew heavy despite the whirring machinery and constant screams from the original _Texas Chainsaw Massacre_. He felt his head tipping back and to the side, cheek finding the warm bulk of Leorio’s shoulder. Then there was the press of a sharp jawline against his head, the rasp of stubble against his scalp. The phantom brush of fingers against his, knuckles to knuckles.

The next thing he knew, cold blue light was shining through the windows. The coffee table was still cluttered with dishes, the meat and cheese gone rubbery and the last dregs of guacamole gray from oxidation. Alluka and Nanika were cuddled up to Lilla on the floor, sleeping deeply under their fluffy pink (for the former) and green (the latter) comforters. Kalluto was nowhere to be found, and Kurapika assumed they had actually made it upstairs to bed. On the other side of the couch Killua and Gon were curled towards each other like two parentheses, sharing a pillow and a blanket.

Kurapika became aware of the solid warmth of his pillow beneath him. The way it had a steady heartbeat pounding _thump-thump-thump_ under his ear. Then he noticed the arm slung over the back of the couch, supporting Kurapika’s shoulders but not fully wrapping around him. Another one of Cupid’s bolts struck his heart as he realized his position, curled up as he was against Leorio his his head settled on his chest. The air smelled like cinnamon and Leorio’s smoky cologne.

Part of him wanted to reflexively jerk away and hightail it back to the city. But something else, be it grogginess or comfort or a reluctance to wake Leorio and break this spell, kept him still. That _something_ let him close his eyes and simply rest, his cheek pressed against the soft cotton of Leorio’s t-shirt. Once, Kurapika did not consider himself much of a cuddler. But now he needed to contend with the much more likely possibility that he spent his twenties bringing home all the wrong people.

Kurapika watched the slow rise and fall of Leorio’s chest with half-lidded eyes, his weary body at war with his spinning mind.

_You need to talk about this._

_You need to make a decision._

_You need to tell him._

(Tell him what, though? The only thing more frightening than talking to Leorio about his feelings was naming them.)

_You deserve better than to deny the validity and existence of your feelings. And, if I may… so does he._

_Kurapika, what are you so afraid of?_

(Being wrong. Humiliation. Loss. Loneliness. His shattered glass heart cutting into his palms as he tried to catch the jagged pieces and hold on, cutting his skin as his life careened out of control. Like a fashion show. Like a car spinning out over black ice.)

He was accomplishing nothing with these thoughts except working himself into an anxiety attack. So he slowly slid out from the blanket, careful not to jostle Leorio, and tucked the blanket back into place like he was never there.

Kurapika quietly padded into the kitchen, using some fresh grounds to start the drip coffee (he assumed he was the one who fell asleep, making him the person who needed to whip up breakfast). But anything he made now would get cold waiting for the rest of the house to wake, so he simply put some cream and sugar in his coffee and sat in the breakfast nook, peering out over the rolling countryside around the Zoldyck estate. The morning mist was slowly burning off as the sun crept higher in the sky, revealing the miles of corn and the dark outlines of barren trees.

A soft whine made Kurapika look away from the window. Lilla peered up at him with her big brown eyes. She plaintively settled a heavy paw on Kurapika’s wrinkled jeans.

Sighing, Kurapika scratched just behind her ears where Kalluto and Alluka claimed she liked it most. With a snuffle, she closed her eyes and rested her head on Kurapika’s thigh. He let his thoughts trail away from him, wondering over and over:

_How can I leave them? But how can I stay?_

~

Canary and Amane were _Light of My Life’s_ penultimate couple for the season. They owned and operated an adorable little coffee shop called _Slice of Love_. Kurapika recognized the name and recalled it was right around the corner from _Fortuna_ : a quaint corner store with large bay windows, funky lights, and pride flags in all the windows. The couple brought homemade blueberry scones and a travel box of their house blend to their first meeting on Monday morning.

“Oh, thank you!” Leorio and Gon cheered effusively, already biting into the scones. Which left Kurapika to do the welcoming small talk, pouring himself (and Leorio and Gon) cups of coffee.

“This smells excellent,” Kurapika observed.

“We roast the beans in-house,” Amane replied. She was a beautiful woman in her late twenties, pale and slender, with long, dark hair and almond-shaped eyes. She could have been a dancer in another life, but in this one, she was the proud operator and baker for the store. Amane handed Canary a scone as well.

“Thanks, babe,” Canary said, taking a bite of the pastry. She was shorter than Amane, her build athletic. Her skin was dark, her eyes brown, her hair braided back.

“So, tell us about yourselves,” Kurapika started, feeling awkward and flat-footed. Leorio made a small laughing sound into his cup. He subtly stepped on Leorio’s foot. “How did you meet?”

“We met in business school, actually,” Canary started. “I was getting my business degree –”

“ – and I was taking some classes to get my certification –” Amane added.

“ – and we were assigned to a project group together,” Canary finished. “The program catered toward working professionals, so we were some of the few people in the same age range. We started hanging out –”

“ – And one thing led to another -”

“ – And, _voila!”_ Amane held her left hand, flaunting the elegant blue-and-silver ring on her finger. “Engaged!”

“How long have you been together?” Leorio asked.

“Five years,” Canary said. “We wanted to be sure the shop was in solid shape before we got married.”

“And now it finally is,” Amane said eagerly, “So we are!”

Because Amane and Canary had been together for years, they had their wedding almost entirely planned out from start to finish. There was a butterfly garden attached to the natural history museum in the city that they wanted to host their ceremony, and they were hoping they could hold their reception there, as well. They both came from large families with lots of siblings, nieces and nephews, and cousins, and they thought it might be easiest to have the party somewhere designed to keep the children occupied.

“We’re looking at the third weekend in November, just before Thanksgiving,” Amane said. She handed over the blue paisley scrapbook titled _Dream Wedding_ she had purportedly been making for the past two years. “Will this be helpful for your plans?”

“Very much so, yes,” Kurapika said. He carefully paged through the scrapbook. It was filled with pictures of Canary and Amane on various dates, each with little trinkets pasted next to them – a receipt from their first coffee date, a faded leaf from their first shared plant, a page painted the same pale lilac as the walls of their first apartment. Dried flowers and glittery child’s butterfly stickers decorated the wedding pages featuring magazine cut-outs of dresses and suits, wedding cakes, bridesmaids dresses, reception decorations and favors. He observed, “It’s like a travel Pinterest board.”

“Thank you!” Amane cried. “That was the goal! I mean, Pinterest is cool and all. But I like this personal touch. It’s something for Canary and I to do together that’s tech-free.”

“You should see her flower collection,” Canary added. “She picks and presses flowers and leaves from every trip we go on. It’s adorable.”

Amane’s pretty face blushed pink. Pleased, she tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “Do you need to know anything else?”

“This should be plenty to start with. Now we just need to get a few dates lined up,” Kurapika said, and they spent the rest of the meeting creating a schedule for clothes measurements and adjustments, cake tasting, and menu and bouquet creation. Amane was most eager for this final step.

“May I keep this while I plan?” Kurapika asked, holding up the sketchbook as the women packed up. Amane nodded.

“Of course, anything you need!” She hiked her purse higher up on her shoulder with a sunny beam. “We’ll see you Wednesday for our measurements. Thank you so much, it’s so nice to meet you three.”

“We look forward to working with you,” Canary said, shaking his hand with a businesswoman’s firm grip. 

Kurapika walked them out, waving goodbye at the elevator, and returned to the office. The room was quiet when he re-entered, and he returned to his usual perch and started to page slowly through the scrapbook.

Leorio had been oddly quiet throughout this meeting, Kurapika realized. He looked up from the scrapbook. “Is something on your mind, Leorio?”

“Uh,” Leorio said awkwardly. “Yes.” He cleared his throat and looked up from his phone finally. “Sorry, I was just double checking something. The, uh, wedding date. That Saturday is the same day as my sister’s baby shower.”

“Your sister’s having a baby, Leorio?” Gon asked eagerly. “That’s so exciting! What’s the name?”

“Not sure yet, Gon,” Leorio said. He was still looking at Kurapika like he was worried about something. “I’m sorry, Kurapika, I can…”

Kurapika realized what Leorio’s hang-up was. “What you can _do_ is tell Carmelita I say hello and give her my best wishes for her health and happiness. Kalluto and I will handle the wedding that day.”

Leorio frowned. “But –”

“No buts,” Kurapika interrupted gently. He shut the scrapbook, set it aside, and stood up to approach Leorio, resting his hip against the table and looking down into his face. “How many times in the past few months have you lectured me about work-life balance?”

Leorio laughed quietly. “How many times this _week_ , do you mean.”

Kurapika let that one slide, because it actually supported his point. “This is your sister’s first baby. _Your_ first… nugget.” Leorio chuckled again, abashed, adorable. “You have to go. We’ll handle everything here.”

Leorio studied him for a few moments, his eyes flickering over Kurapika’s face. Finally, he looked back down at his empty cup of coffee. He smiled faintly. “Thank you, Kurapika.”

He smiled back. “Any time.”

~

Wednesday arrived in the blink of an eye. Kurapika’s days blurred together ever since Melody told him about the contract renewal. It lingered constantly in the back of his mind, a countdown that ticked ever-faster, grains of sand slipping through his fingers the harder he tried to hold on. Leorio had not brought up the topic since the McMahon-Bine wedding. Kurapika could not decide if that made him feel better or worse.

But at least in his studio, he felt in control. He could smile at Canary and Amane, talk about colors and palettes and dresses and suits, and he could pretend there was not a noose tightening against his neck with every passing day.

“I want a dress,” Amane said, “But not a traditional white dress.”

“Oh?” Kurapika asked curiously as he took Amane’s measurements. “Why is that, if I may ask?”

“I’m scared I’ll blend in with the fabric,” Amane said bluntly, and Kurapika huffed out a surprised laugh. Behind him, Leorio and Canary did so as well. “What? It’s true! I’m so pale!”

“Fair enough,” Kurapika said placatingly. “I’m not judging at all, only curious. What color were you thinking instead?”

“Yellow,” Canary piped up from the couch.

_“No,_ babe,” Amane sighed, sticking her tongue out. To Kurapika, she answered, “I think blue. A nice, pale blue. Like a Cinderella dress.”

“Does that make me your Princess Charming?” Canary asked, perching her elbow on the couch cushion and her chin in her hand. She lifted an eyebrow, a playful smirk on her lips.

Amane was a woman easily flustered, Kurapika realized as she went carnation-pink over her cheeks. Amane insisted, “Of course you are. That’s why we’re getting married. And for the tax write-offs.”

“My romantic, practical Cinderella,” Canary agreed dryly. Despite all her teasing and good-natured ribbing, her eyes were tender as she said, “I love you.”

Amane blew her a kiss in the mirror as Kurapika measured her hip circumference. “Love you too.”

Canary hopped up next. As he got to work, Kurapika asked, “Were you thinking of a suit or dress for the wedding?”

“A suit,” Canary said right away. “I just. I was really athletic growing up. Softball in the spring and summer, swimming in the fall and winter. And for a long time I was self-conscious about my body because of that, because I was flat-chested and had broad shoulders and I didn’t look like the soft, pretty girls on TV. I didn’t look like, well. Amane.”

“Which is _insane_ to me,” Amane said, meeting Canary’s dark eyes in the mirror. “Imagine looking at you and not seeing the most beautiful woman in the world. The strongest and kindest and funniest and most capable.”

Canary smiled softly at her fiancé, her expression achingly devoted. “It took time, but now I love myself on the outside as much as I do on the inside. And Amane, I have you to thank for that.” Her grin widened. “And it helps that you’re a good cook.”

“I knew you had an ulterior motive for popping the question,” Amane sighed extravagantly. She lay back against the cushions like she was reclining on a fainting couch.

“Well, the least was almost up,” Canary said seriously. “I had to give you a reason to keep me around.” Kurapika finished his measurements, and Canary hopped off the pedestal to sit beside Amane, kissing her lightly on the lips. Amane snickered into Canary’s mouth. “God knows it’s not _my_ cooking.”

“It’s the way you whip me around the rink at roller derby,” Amane said. “Closest to flying I’ll ever get.”

“You do roller derby?” Leorio asked, perking up. “My sister’s been thinking about getting involved.”

“She might want to wait,” Kurapika suggested. Leorio snorted.

“I mean _Altea_ , smartass,” he replied.

“The derby team is super fun!” Amane said. “We have a travel team and a reserve B team, but we also invite folks from every experience level to join in! It’s a great way to gain confidence and meet new people. We practice three times a week at this roller rink downtown.”

As she spoke, Canary reached into her purse and pulled out a small pocketbook and pen. She scribbled out a few names, numbers and addresses, tearing it out and passing it to Leorio. “Our address and coaching staff,” she explained.

“Oh, neat! Thanks!” Leorio said appreciatively. He skimmed the page. “Tsubone and Gotoh?”

“Tsubone is the coach, and a mean old bitch at that,” Amane said eagerly. “Mean in that fun grandma way, where she’ll bring us all homemade brownies and then bitch about how much she hates half the teams’ boyfriends.”

“You can say that because she’s _your_ grandma,” Canary said, rolling her eyes. “If anyone _else_ tried to call her a mean old bitch, and she’d throw them over her shoulder.”

“She calls _herself_ that!”

“I know, love, I’ve had Sunday dinner with her.”

Amane shook her head, laughing fondly. “And Gotoh is the team manager. He makes sure all our equipment is in order, and our hotels and flights are booked, or our carpools are organized. Canary is business manager, because she dives wholeheartedly into everything, so she works really closely with him. It’s a really great group of people to join, is what I’m saying.”

Canary shook her head. “He just needed the help.”

“And you volunteered,” Amane reminded her. She nudged Canary’s shoulder with hers, eyes warm and affectionate. In a sugar-sweet voice, she said, “So take a goddamn compliment, okay?”

Canary laughed so hard she snorted. Once she got herself under control, she asked, “Anything else you gentlemen need?”

“I think that’s it,” Leorio said. “Kurapika?”

“I’ve everything I need,” Kurapika said. “I’ll procure some fabric swatches for your dress, Amane, and get back to you next week with some sketches. Monday or Tuesday at the latest.”

“That’s so fast!” Amane said. “Can I just say, you’re an _incredible_ artist, Kurapika. _And_ you, Leorio. We looked you both up when we got home on Monday, to see more about your work. You two are so good apart, we can’t wait to see what work you create when you’re together!”

Kurapika’s professional mask did not crack, but it came very close. He thought of a makeshift carnival in a backyard, a glass lotus made of broken glass, a wedding arch composed of orange leaves. He thought of turtle-themed centerpieces and Shakespeare quotes on a ceiling and a midnight-blue suit. He thought of takeout Zaban and lukewarm beer and hot soup pressing into his cold, shaking hands. Of a warm, gentle hand on his waist, his shoulder, his temple, of a heartbeat under his ear.

He thought of all the beautiful things he and Leorio created together, and he pictured it ruined if he made the wrong choice.

“Thank you,” Leorio said, looking bashful but appreciative. He wrapped up the rest of the meeting, letting Gon escort the two women out the door and into the night. 

For a few minutes, the loft was quiet as Kurapika tidied up. Leorio would have helped, he was sure, but Emperor decided he had not received enough attention that day, so he settled onto Leorio’s lap in a purring bundle of fur. Kurapika flitted about, tidying and organizing things that did not necessarily need to be tidied or organized. Anxiety bubbled uncomfortably under his skin and his mind raced, thinking thoughts like _you’re alone, alone, alone, tell him (tell him what?), the contract, talk about the contract, no wait don’t, be professional, professional, he’s your best friend but be professional, but how are you being a friend in return if you’re shutting him out like this, but how are you a friend if you rope him_ into _this, you need to leave, you need to stay, what do you want, what do you_ want, Kurapika, what are you so afraid of?

_Everything_ , he thought. His thoughts were spinning so quickly in his skull he felt dizzy. _I’m so scared of everything that I’m paralyzed in place watching the world pass me by._

“Kurapika.” And there was Leorio, because he was still here, and he planted himself firmly in his field of vision. In a calm but authoritative voice, Leorio ordered him to sit down, placing his hands on Kurapika’s shoulders and steering him onto the sofa. He gently picked up Emperor, who made a small sound of indignation, and plopped the cat onto Kurapika’s lap. Emperor soon curled up into a near-perfect circle, dozing. For a few minutes they were silent. Kurapika carefully ran his fingers through the cat’s thick fur, letting the texture and the sound of his purrs soothe his anxiety.

Once he was reasonably sure he could speak without his voice shaking, he said, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course.” Leorio twisted so his torso was facing Kurapika, one leg folded up on the couch and an arm slung over the backrest. “What’s going on? Wedding getting to you? Seriously, this is too much, I’ll tell Lita I can’t make it and go to the wedding, it’s fine.”

“No,” Kurapika replied, a bit sharper than he intended. He took a breath and went on in a more measured tone, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to snap. The wedding is not bothering me. And I stand by what I said before: your family comes before the show, always.”

Leorio was quiet for a few minutes. His expression seemed distant as he watched Kurapika’s fingers slide through Emperor’s fur. Finally, he broke the quiet spell of silence. “It’s about the contract, isn’t it?”

Kurapika swallowed thickly. It was useless and cruel to lie. “Yes.”

“What’s up?” Leorio asked. Kurapika could not bear to meet his eyes. He knew what he would see there: patience, kindness, a hint of confusion. He asked _what’s up,_ but Kurapika heard _what’s wrong, please tell me what’s happening, please don’t shut me out._

_Coward, coward, coward,_ his head yelled at him.

“I’m…” Kurapika tried to speak, failed. _Tell him._

_Tell him what?_

_Tell him how you feel._

_I don’t know how I feel._

_Then decide._

_That’s what I’m so afraid to do. To name it. Because if I name it, I can want it. And just because you want something is no reason to think you can have it._

_If I can name it, I can lose it._

Kurapika looked back into Emperor’s fur. He made himself say, “I don’t know if I’m coming back.”

They fell into silence. The longer it stretched, the more Kurapika wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole, please and thank you. When it obviously did not, Kurapika chanced a look back up at Leorio. He was just in time to watch his friend school his hurt expression back into something more neutral. The sight made Kurapika’s insides curdle with guilt, shame, embarrassment. And an unfair, totally misplaced anger. Because why would _Leorio_ be the one upset here? Why should _Leorio_ care if he was coming back or not? Leorio had not spent the past several months with his self-control and sanity and entire world collapsing down on his own head. He hadn’t spent the past several months second- and triple-guessing every interaction between them, obsessively worrying over what was platonic and what was not. He did not lay awake at night and hear the phantom echo of a heartbeat ringing between his ears, his entire body high-strung and humming with _want_.

“Is it… the clients?” Leorio asked slowly.

Kurapika sighed. “No.”

“Is it any of our partners?”

“No.”

“Is it the workload?”

“That doesn’t _help,”_ Kurapika confessed irritably. “Leorio, just –”

“Is it something I did?” Leorio interrupted, the words tripping over each other like he hadn’t quite caught them in time. Kurapika’s neck turned so fast he nearly got whiplash. Leorio looked almost panicked as their eyes met, his cheeks going scarlet.

Something he _did?_ Kurapika wanted to snarl. Of course it was something he did. What he _did_ was appear like a bolt from the blue into Kurapika’s neatly organized life, throwing everything from his schedule to his loft to his own _head_ into constant, unmitigated _chaos_. What he _did_ was smile and laugh and _breathe_ in Kurapika’s general direction, just exist like the kind, welcoming, warm, sexy asshole he was, and _he ruined everything._

But with his question, Leorio struck too close to the truth, striking a chord of panic behind Kurapika’s breastbone in the process. Without thinking, his defense switched to offense.

“Not everything is about you, Leorio,” Kurapika snipped coldly.

Leorio physically recoiled as if he’d been slapped. “What the hell, Kurapika? I’m just trying to have a conversation with you. We’ve been partners in this show for, what, six months now? Seven? Forgive me for thinking I could ask you what was bothering you about this fucking contract without you biting my head off over it.”

“I’m _not_ , I’m just reminding you that not every decision I make is about you,” Kurapika retorted. Emperor made a disgruntled sound at their raising voices and nimbly jumped off of his lap to jog upstairs. Smart cat, getting out of the blast radius.

“I never said it was!”

“You asked if it was something you did!”

“Well, you’re not giving any other reason for why you may want to leave!” Leorio argued. “So I thought I’d ask. Because partners _communicate_.”

“Well, don’t!” Kurapika snapped. He was really taking the mature high road on this, wasn’t he? Because he was an idiot. A coward. One who would rather burn a bridge than risk learning what was on the other side.

“Yeah, I worked that out,” Leorio said coldly. He stood up, making his way over to the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Where do you think?” Leorio demanded sarcastically. If it were possible to do so, he shoved his feet angrily into his shoes. “I’m going home. It’s five o’clock. End of the workday. That’s what you care about most, right? Work?”

_That_ one stung. Not just because it was an exceptionally low blow. But because it was true. Because that was exactly what Kurapika had focused on and prioritized every day of his life for the past ten years. His focused diligence, his brilliant ability to draw and sketch and sew, to _produce_ , became an arrow in the quiver Leorio slung at him. He wanted to yell. He wanted to snap. He wanted to cry.

He wanted to say, _that’s not true_ , and he realized he couldn’t.

Kurapika finally found his voice. It was as cold as the wind blowing against his window. “Please leave.”

“I _am,”_ Leorio hissed. His hands jerked at his zipper so hard it snagged on the fabric. A tearing sound filled the room. They both ignored it.

“Good,” Kurapika spat.

_“Good.”_

Leorio left. He did not slam the door. He had not even raised his voice. Kurapika wasn’t sure if that made everything better or worse.

Kurapika picked up a pillow and screamed into it. From righteous anger, frustration, humiliation. He felt like he was fifteen again, shouting with Pairo about stupid shit that seemed so important at the time but he could not even remember now. He felt anxious and angry and about three inches tall, embarrassed and _stupid_. He felt out of control. His grasp on his feelings and thoughts unspooled from him like dropped threads, creating a beautiful, tangled knot under his feet.

_Idiot,_ Kurapika lambasted himself. _Idiot, fool, asshole, coward, bastard._

This was ridiculous. _Unacceptable_. He could not let himself act like such a child. Livid, he stomped to his writing desk and flipped his sketchbook to a new page.

~

_**Stay** _

_Pros_

  * _Continue wedding planning and hone skills_


  * _Make couples happy_


  * _The Zoldycks_


  * _Gon_


  * _So much good food/free cake_


  * _Lilla the dog_


  * _Steady income_


  * _Reasonable hours (usually)_


  * _Leorio_



_Cons_

  * _Never talk to Leorio about The Thing_



_**Leave The Show** _

_Pros_

  * _Pick my own jobs again_


  * _Return to fashion community_


  * _Maybe talk to Leorio about The Thing_



_Cons_

  * _Everything goes Wrong and I ruin my life for nothing_



~

Because Kurapika’s life was currently just “Yakety Sax” on repeat, he forgot that Pairo and Altair were supposed to come over for dinner and suit measurements that night.

Kurapika did not move from his current position laying face-down on his couch when there was a knock on his door. Pairo let himself in with his key, calling, “Pika! Are you dead?”

Kurapika groaned into the cushion, which he supposed was not a _no_. He sensed his brothers slowly walking towards him. Altair spoke first, his tone light as if he were an explorer in a nature documentary.

“You alright, buddy?”

Kurapika did not have the energy to move his head from its current position smooshed into a pillow. He simply gave Altair a thumbs-up gesture. He sensed Altair’s nod, rather than saw it.

“Okay. Do you want to talk about it?”

The thumb pointed downward.

“I see. Do you want to lay here and die, never to be heard from again?”

Kurapika considered this. The thumb tipped upwards again.

“Quit babying him, he’s being a drama queen.” Pairo decided to end Kurapika’s minute (hour) of self-pity by stomping to his couch, whipping the pillow out from below his head, and starting to hit him with it.

“Ow – ouch – _fuck_ – stop that!” Kurapika yelped, sitting up and throwing his arms over his head. Pairo _thwapped_ him over the head with the pillow once more for good measure. He’d played dirty their whole lives. “What’s that for?”

Pairo looked _severely_ unimpressed, more so than Kurapika had seen in years. “Kurapika,” he started. “What the _fuck_ is this?”

“Is _what_ , fuckwad?”

“This.” He held up the sketchbook Kurapika abandoned on his desk. His auburn eyes narrowed. “What. Is. _This.”_

Kurapika sighed heavily. “My contract with Netflix is up for renewal.”

“Yeah, I see that,” Pairo said. “But why…?” He flapped the sketchbook threateningly in Kurapika’s face. Scowling, he snatched it from his brother’s hands and clutched it close to his chest.

“I’m not sure if I should sign it or not.”

“Because you’re in love with Leorio?”

Kurapika blinked. He opened his mouth to speak. Closed it.

“I’m not…”

Pairo folded his arms. Kurapika looked askance at Altair, but he only shrugged. He sat beside Kurapika and held out a hand. “May I?”

Kurapika handed Altair the sketchbook with a defeated sigh. As he read it, Pairo slowly sat on his other side.

Dully, Kurapika confessed, “We had a fight.”

“Oh?” Altair asked, his voice very carefully neutral. “What about?”

“That.” Kurapika pointed at the page. “Not in as much detail. He asked if I was returning, I said I wasn’t sure. He pushed. I pushed back.”

Pairo’s voice was gentler this time. Less tease and snark, more empathetic. “Because you’re in love with him?”

“No,” Kurapika immediately replied.

“Hmm,” Altair said. He held up the page. “There’s just a Thing.”

“Love,” Pairo said simply.

Kurapika nudged him with his shoulder. “Why are you so insistent on that?”

He didn’t even bother to argue. And for that, Pairo was merciful. He lay his head against Kurapika’s shoulder.

“Because I’ve never seen you like this,” Pairo explained patiently. “This unsure. This anxious. This excited to get up and live your life. The way you’ve been the last few months, since you started this job. God, Kurapika, that man makes you _so happy_. I’ve never seen you look at someone the way you look at him. You _melted_ when he showed up when you were sick. You talk about him all the time. Every time we hang out, it’s Leorio this, Leorio that. Kurapika, it’s so clear. You love him.” He reached across Kurapika to finger at the sketchbook page and its pros-cons list. “That’s why you’re doing this, but you’re still undecided. Because this isn’t a professional decision anymore. You want to treat it like one, and I respect that. But this isn’t something you can rationally chart out anymore. Frankly, I don’t think it has been for a while.”

Kurapika swallowed thickly. “I’m not saying I feel anything for him. But… if I did, what would you suggest I do?”

“You’re asking _me_ for advice?” Pairo asked. For all his initial snide teasing, he looked genuinely taken aback by the request. Kurapika shrugged.

“You’d offer it anyway. Thought I’d cut to the chase.”

“Funny.” Pairo sighed. “This is a question only you can answer, unfortunately. But you start by deciding what _you_ want. What will make _you_ happy. And if that happiness involves someone else – like, say, Leorio…” Kurapika snorted, and he felt Pairo’s cheeks dimple up into a smile. “...Then you talk about it. And it’s hard, and it’s scary, and it’s awkward. It’s like walking on a tightrope strung between two skyscrapers. But no one else can walk it for you.”

Kurapika sighed. He looked back at the sketchbook page. The section labeled _never tell Leorio_ mocked him in its black and white simplicity.

Those were his choices. Stay, and never speak; leave the show, and try.

“Okay,” Kurapika said. He squared his shoulders and sat up straight. He repeated, “Okay. I will think about it some more. But tonight you came here to get your measurements for your wedding, and to help _me_ get my measurements perfectly, so let’s get to it. Who’s first?”

Pairo and Altair exchanged slightly dubious looks that Kurapika chose not to remark upon. Altair stood up and started walking over to the studio area. And for the rest of the night, everything felt normal again.

Or… it felt like life before the show. Kurapika finished his measurements. They ordered delivery and laughed over some new terrible show Netflix put out. They bickered and snarked and argued and it was fun, truly, but Kurapika was reminded time and again that he was a third wheel in his own home. Pairo and Altair were never rude, never excluded him from their conversations, but that did not mean it never happened. They could converse in the flick of a brow, in a smile, in a hand gesture. They could communicate without looking at each other at all.

Like he and Leorio could, Kurapika mused as he lay in bed that night. He did not bother pulling his curtains that night, and he let the yellowish-white ambiance of the city lights illuminate the room. The half-moon in the sky added a silvery blue sheen to everything, as well, glowing off of his comforter and the tufts of Emperor’s fur where he snoozed at the foot of the bed. That same easy, open communication, affection wrapped in banter, kindness tucked into every touch. Kurapika wondered if he had ruined that. He swallowed the fear crawling up his throat. He and Leorio fought once before, but that was different. They hadn’t known each other that time, not really. Back then they were still strangers learning how their puzzle pieces and jagged edges meshed together. They did not know the pitfalls to avoid, nor the anxieties to watch for and soothe. Tonight had been ugly and mean. Kurapika never thought he was capable of being truly _mean_. Sharp, yes; petty and stubborn at times, of course. But not mean. And not without reason. And never to someone who did not deserve his ire.

Before he could talk himself out of it, his phone was in his hand. The number was dialed. The ringing tone thundered in his otherwise silent-room. After the third ring, the call connected.

_“Kurapika?”_

Leorio sounded tired and surprised, but not groggy. He hadn’t been asleep, either. His stomach twisted in guilt yet again. “Leorio.”

For almost a full minute they stayed like that, on the phone but neither man speaking. Kurapika listened to the soft hum of static and felt calm again for the first time since that afternoon.

Finally, Kurapika found his words. “Leorio, I’m sorry.”

A pause. Then Leorio laughed, the sound a rusty crackle over the airwaves. _“I was going to say that.”_

“Please, don’t,” Kurapika said softly. He stared out his window, taking in the mish-mash of lit and unlit windows across the city, the sliver of moon. “I was rude and unkind. I was stressed and anxious, and I took it out on you. And that wasn’t fair. I’m sorry.”

_“I’m sorry, too,”_ Leorio told him. _“I could tell you didn’t want to talk about it, and I pushed anyway. And I shouldn’t have.”_

“No,” Kurapika agreed. “But I shouldn’t have snapped.”

He could hear Leorio’s smile. _“No. And what I said at the end there… that was totally uncalled for. I’m sorry.”_

_“I forgive you,”_ Kurapika told him quietly. When he exhaled, he felt the last weight from their fight lifting from his chest. He heard Leorio’s breath echoing the feeling.

_“I forgive you, too,”_ Leorio said. _“I just… it’s hard to see you upset and not know what’s wrong or how to help. I’m not trying to make you feel bad, I guess I just wanted you to…”_

He trailed off. Kurapika suggested, “Understand?”

Another huff of a laugh. _“Yeah. Understand.”_

Kurapika sighed. “I do understand. I would be the same if our roles were reversed. I know I tend to shut down when I get like that. I’ll… try not to let it happen again. Or I’ll talk to you before it gets there. Deal?”

A sleepy laugh. The sound sent a chill from Kurapika’s ear, down his spine, to pool in his stomach and curl his toes. _“Deal.”_

Kurapika swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry, Leorio. This contract drama… it’s not fair to you.”

_“It’s okay,”_ Leorio assured him. _“You… you have different considerations than I do. It’s okay. And you don’t need to run every thought in your head by me. And the contract isn’t why we’re friends, you know?”_

“Is it not?” Kurapika teased, earning himself another wondrous chuckle.

_“No, it’s not, smartass,”_ Leorio said. _“It brought us together, sure. But it’s not why we’re friends. And we won’t stop being friends if you decide to leave. So do what you need to do, think about it from a million different angles. Do what you need. My mind is made up.”_

Kurapika’s mouth and throat were dry. He licked his lips, wondering what Leorio looked like when he said that. How he meant it. He wondered if he could ask. Before he could, Leorio went on, _“It’s late. We should get to sleep. I’ll see you in the office.”_

“Goodnight, Leorio,” Kurapika said. Another low, rumbling laugh.

_“Sleep well, sunshine.”_

Kurapika let the phone slide to the bed. There was a creeping tightness in his throat that made it hard to breathe. He blinked and felt dampness gathering in the corners of his eyes.

God, what a patient man. So understanding, so empathetic, so _good_. Cupid sent a few more bolts into Kurapika’s chest for his troubles.

What a good friend.

Kurapika did not show his appreciation enough. Sure, he used words, but words only said so much. He needed to _do_ something. Something that showed he _cared_ , that he appreciated _Leorio_ , exactly as he was and for exactly what he did. Something that did the work to meet Leorio where he was, and not forever ask him to cross the bridge to Kurapika’s side.

Which meant, of course, that midnight on a Thursday morning was exactly when inspiration struck. Forgoing sleep for a few more hours – he would not have gotten to sleep for a few more hours in any case, and Kurapika thought he might as well be productive with his time – he rolled to the side of his bed and grabbed his laptop.

~

Canary and Amane were a supremely easy couple to plan for. As the next two weeks flew by in a rush of planning, sewing, phone calls, and creating, their botanical garden wedding rapidly took shape. The natural history museum had never hosted a wedding before, but they were thrilled to give it a try. There was a wide, circular central area in the middle of the butterfly room that would serve well for the ceremony. It would be a bit cramped, but Kurapika, Leorio, and the rest of the museum staff sat down for a long afternoon and worked how to maximize the space to fit the most people without completely messing up the exhibit.

When Kurapika went to his preferred fabric vendor, he found several swatches that he thought would work for Amane’s dress and Canary’s suit accents. He was privately pleased that the pair selected the color he thought would suit them best, a soft baby blue that matched Amane’s eyes _perfectly_. They finalized their outfit designs, and Kurapika worked late into the night getting everything started.

(If the fabric vendor, who Kurapika had a pleasant relationship with after the past several months of showing up at least twice a month, sent him an odd look when she saw his second purchase, at least she did not comment on it. If Kurapika waited until Gon, Killua, and Leorio were gone for the night before he resumed work on his secret project, well, at least no one but Emperor was there to level him with a judgmental gaze.)

Killua finalized the cake design and spent the next week practicing his sugar-glass butterflies. The pair decided to go a traditional route, a white tiered cake with strawberry-buttercream frosting. The initial sketches of blue and white butterflies floating over the layers were breathtaking.

Throughout it all, Kurapika and Leorio did their best to return to a state of _status quo_ ante-contract renewal. They could not un-say what was said, but they each made it clear there were no lingering hard feelings after their spat. Everything felt normal on the surface, but Kurapika could not forget the constant countdown running in his head.

At last the week of the wedding arrived, and Kurapika, Leorio, Gon, and the brides arrived at _Palm’s Profferings_ on a gray Tuesday afternoon. The sign on the door was flipped to _closed_ , but as they approached, Palm appeared in the window, unlatching the door and ushering them inside with her usual vague cheer.

“Good afternoon, all,” she said. “Miss Canary, Miss Amane, congratulations on your upcoming nuptials. How have preparations been for you?”

“Great!” Amane replied eagerly. “Everyone has been so nice, and things have been running so smoothly. All thanks to them.” She pointed to Kurapika and Leorio. “Thank you again.”

Kurapika ducked his head, flustered by the praise as ever. “Of course. We are happy to help.”

Palm smiled. There was a funny, knowing glint in her eyes, but she turned back to the brides. “I understand you’re very passionate about flowers, Miss Amane.”

Amane blushed, trying to downplay, but Canary gently butt in. “She presses flowers and leaves from every trip we take. Saves a bloom from every bouquet I’ve ever given her. She’s such a romantic.”

“Says the woman who gets flowers for every occasion,” Amane replied.

“Well, I can’t grow them to give you, so I’ve got to go with the next-best option,” Canary shot back with a wink. Kurapika swallowed a laugh and Leorio let out a low whistle. _Smooth_.

Palm hid her smirk in the back of her hand as Amane grew flustered, cheeks blushing and hands moving quickly as she spoke. When Amane paused for a breath, she slid in, “I have a wide selection of flowers. Tell me more about your color scheme? I have some beautiful Lily of the Nile blooming right now…”

Palm led the couple (and an omnipresent Gon and his camera) back into the main greenhouse area, leaving Kurapika and Leorio alone. For a paranoid moment, he wondered if she did this on purpose. Then he reminded himself that his anxiety tended to spike when he was running on little sleep, and he took a deep breath of damp, sweet-scented air.

“Didn’t you take a class on flower language in college, Kurapika?” Leorio asked suddenly, startling him. He turned to see Leorio staring very seriously at a selection of multi-colored roses. He stifled a laugh as he moved to join Leorio in his scrutiny.

“I did. Good memory.” He eyed the selections of red, yellow, and pink roses. “Why do you ask?”

“Just thinking,” Leorio said. “Lita’s due any day now. I was wondering what might be good to give her in the hospital. Unless.” He blanched. “Is pollen bad for the baby?”

“I’ve _no_ idea,” Kurapika confessed. He wracked his brain, thinking. “Pink carnations are customary for new mothers. Roses are hard to mess up. Pink for youth and joy, white for innocence, yellow for friendship and affection. Red and yellow together represent joy. Gardenias for joy and luck. Honeysuckle for affection, I _think_ the message is okay for family members, but double-check with Palm on that. Some flower meanings are strictly romantic so I don’t want anyone giving you stranger looks than usual.” Leorio scoffed. “And, what else? The birth flower for November is chrysanthemums. White heather for protection, Mr. Cool Uncle, I’m sure Carmelita and Pietro will appreciate that – why are you laughing?”

He frowned up at Leorio. Leorio shook his head, trying to get himself back under control.

“Sorry, sorry,” Leorio said, trying to get himself back under control. “I just wasn’t expecting you to go so in-depth.”

Kurapika folded his arms over his chest. “You asked the question and I answered!”

“I know, I know,” Leorio said, holding up his hands in defense. He shook his head, his laugh fading but the smile lingering. He met Kurapika’s eye. His head tilted to one side. “Hey. You look tired. Are you working too much again?”

Kurapika felt himself flush at the scrutiny in Leorio’s eyes. He admitted, “Well. Yes.” Leorio frowned down at him, and Kurapika quickly added, “It’s going to get better soon. I have a few projects that are overlapping right now, but they’ll be done soon. I’m close to finishing our brides’ clothes, and considering the amount of work going into my brother’s wedding, I’m starting now so I’m not burning the candle at both ends _next_ month, when we’re going to need all our energy to wrangle my brother and his fiancé.”

Kurapika left out his third, secret project for now. If all went well, Leorio would learn about it in a few days’ time regardless. Leorio nodded at him. “That makes sense. Sorry, I don’t mean to be overbearing.”

“I don’t mind it much, actually,” Kurapika admitted, surprising himself and blowing Leorio’s mind, if the way he blinked with bemusement on his face. He amended, “I know that you care. And that you listen. And that I tend to work myself into exhaustion without someone to snap me out of it. So.” He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“Oh,” Leorio said. He scratched absently at the back of his neck. “Okay, then. Cool.”

The back room opened, signaling the return of the brides and their responsibilities. As one, Kurapika and Leorio turned to watch them approach.

“Have you decided on a bouquet?” Kurapika asked. It was getting easier with every couple to code-switch around his clients, from casual comfort with Leorio and the rest of the team to the veneer of the pleasant, polite professional. Amane flounced over to them, a bouquet of white and pale blue flowers in her hands, followed by a grinning Canary and a more serenely pleased Palm.

“Yes!” She cheered. “Palm is an _angel_ , we were able to find flowers that matched our theme, had special sentimental meanings, _and_ were well-known butterfly favorites.” She started pointing at the flowers. “Queen Anne’s Lace, for sanctuary and delicacy; blue alyssum, for beauty; blue and purple iris, for wisdom, faith, and hope; and blue rose for love at first sight.”

“That’s amazing,” Kurapika said. “And it truly is a beautiful bouquet.”

“Thank you,” Canary said. She was quiet so far in this trip, letting Amane take the lead in the part of their wedding planning she was the most excited for, but her smile was wide and genuine as she looked at the wedding planners. “Even with all of the preparations we did coming into this, we were overwhelmed by everything that needed to be done for the wedding. You two are miracle workers, pulling everything together like this.”

Kurapika ducked his head. Funny how he could keep a straight face through blistering and subtle criticism alike, but genuine compliments and appreciation still left him shy. “Thank you. It’s a team effort.”

“Don’t be modest _now_ ,” Leorio piped in warmly. Canary laughed aloud. “Kurapika does most of the planning, frankly, and he just tells the rest of us what to do.”

“You do things, too!” Kurapika argued, flustered. Leorio grinned down at him.

“Effusive as always,” he said magnanimously before turning back to Canary and Amane. “I’m really bummed I won’t be able to attend this wedding to see everything come together. Big family event.”

“Oh, no!” Amane cried, her face falling. “I hope everything is okay! We’ll miss you, but of course family comes first.”

“More than okay,” Leorio assured them, and he started talking about the upcoming baby shower. This was a welcome topic among three people who all came from enormous families, so Kurapika let himself smile faintly as he subtly excused himself from the conversation and stepped out of the camera’s frame.

He meandered slowly down the aisles, admiring the smaller floral displays. The air was warm and humid and full of thick, heady scents. He noticed Palm had returned to her counter and seemed to be balancing the shop’s numbers by hand in a thick book.

Kurapika approached her. Speaking quietly enough their conversation would not interfere with the show audio, he praised, “The flowers here are beautiful. I’m amazed you had all of those flowers on hand.”

Palm smirked faintly. Leaning in slightly, she whispered conspiratorially, “Between you and me? I cheated a little bit. All those flowers are favorites of pollinators, of course. But some are technically more catered to bees or hummingbirds. I didn’t think the butterflies would quibble about it much.”

Kurapika laughed. “We can hope.”

Palm smiled faintly. There was an odd, knowing glint in her eyes as she observed, “You know, Kurapika, you’ve changed in the time that I’ve known you.”

“Oh?” He stood up straight, taken aback. “Have I? How so?”

“Your bearing,” Palm explained, gesturing toward him with a hand. “Your energy, the way you hold yourself. You’ve relaxed.”

Kurapika laughed aloud. “You would be the _only_ person to think so.”

“Mm, I can imagine,” Palm teased. “Have no fear; no one would ever accuse you of being laid-back. But when we met, you possessed a certain… rigidity. And that’s softened. You seem calmer now. Steadier. _Happier_.” Her violet eyes flicked in the direction of his show partner. Kurapika did not take the bait, but he felt his neck growing warm. It seemed like everyone in his life had something to say about his relationship with Leorio. To her credit, Palm only shrugged daintily. “Maybe all your clients’ wedded bliss has rubbed off on you.”

“Maybe,” Kurapika agreed with a noncommittal hum. Palm shook her head, still smiling enigmatically. She reached across her counter to pluck a flower from a display, a five-petaled bloom with a butter-yellow center and petals the color of corn silk. It was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand.

“For you,” Palm said, holding the flower out to him. Surprised, Kurapika accepted the bloom.

“Thank you,” he said, touched. “What is it?”

“A flower,” Palm said with a straight face. “I operate a flower shop.”

Kurapika sent her a deadpan glare. Palm laughed aloud, a beautiful, tinkling sound that filled the shop. Kurapika shook his head indulgently and tucked the flower behind his ear. Palm finally calmed, explaining, _“_ _Myosotis,_ otherwise known as the forget-me-not. It’s most well known for its self-explanatory meaning, but it has a second meaning that I personally think is overlooked far too often in our culture.”

“And what is that?” Kurapika asked. He reached a hand up to fiddle with the velvety petals that tickled the shell of his ear and his temple.

Palm sent him another mysterious smile. “True love.”

~

Friday afternoon, Kurapika put the final touches on his secret project. And not a moment too soon, if he was honest. Now all he needed to do was deliver it.

Well. That was not quite accurate. What he needed to do was buck up his courage to pick up his phone. Open his messages. Write to Leorio. Three things that seemed _completely_ out of his reach at that moment, so he put his phone down on the table like a coward and went to take a shower. Drink some water. _Almost_ text one of his brothers. But Altair was working, and Kurapika was positive Pairo would drive across the city just to call him a fucking idiot and kick his ass in person (and then demand dinner for his troubles).

So it was with that specter hanging over his head that Kurapika pulled out his phone and, before his anxiety could paralyze him again, text Leorio, _Are you busy right now?_

He flung his phone screen-down on his coffee table. Lay down against the pillows and willed death to just take him now. Emperor took this opportunity to climb all over Kurapika’s freshly washed body and clean shirt and sit right on his chest. Defeated, Kurapika scratched the little monster behind the ears.

His phone buzzed. Kurapika snatched it up again to read: _A bit, but I can talk some. What’s up?_

Kurapika groaned aloud. Of-fucking-course. Now he got to feel like a bother as well as a world-class fool. _It’s more an in-person thing. May I come over?_

The read receipt popped up immediately. Almost as immediately came Leorio’s responses.

_???????_

_EXTREMELY ominous sunshine_

_that’s fine. i’m in the workshop on the docks. i’ll be here for a while._

This struck Kurapika as odd. As far as he knew, everything they might have needed built or stored in that location was already done for the wedding tomorrow. But Leorio was a perfectionist just as much as Kurapika, even if he was a lot quieter and calmer about it, so perhaps something was not yet up to his standards.

The drive to the docks was short this time of evening. He made good time as he wove through the city to the bay. Traffic picked up a bit more as Kurapika grew closer to the artsy district. The area was full of chic, elegant restaurants, and plenty of studios were hosting shows on this Friday night. Kurapika glanced through the windows as he passed, thinking. If he’d made a different decision eight months back, he might have been attending one of those shows right now. Very likely he would have hosted one or a dozen himself. He remembered them well: low lights, fancy hors d'oeuvres, middling white wine. Tittering conversations behind their glasses, niceties couched in false cheer and criticisms delivered with cutting smiles.

This time last year, everyone looked at Kurapika’s designs and saw art that lacked passion, warmth, soul. No one even stopped to think it was their shared soil preventing his growth. Least of all him.

Who would have thought the answer to all his problems would be right here, as well, Kurapika mused as he parked outside the studio. He took another deep breath to soothe his nerves.

The studio was pleasantly warm from the furnace where Zushi and Wing had been glassmaking all day. Their side of the room was full of glittering glass baubles, both their own in preparation for the coming holidays and left from the glass-blowing lessons they offered around this time of year. Zushi had already roped Gon and the Zoldycks in to a few lessons. On Leorio’s side, long rows of wedding centerpieces and other party favors were lined up awaiting tomorrow.

Leorio was nowhere to be seen. Kurapika called, “Leorio?”

“Back here!” Came Leorio’s voice from the storage room. Confused, Kurapika made his way to the far end of the studio, poking his head inside.

“Oh, my,” he said, stumbling to a halt on the threshold.

“Hey,” Leorio greeted, not looking up quite yet as he finished his task. “I’ll be right there, give me one sec.”

“Sure,” Kurapika said through numb lips, taking in the scene. Because Leorio was standing above a _crib_ , perfectly sized for a brand-new baby. It was surrounded by wood chips from the careful carvings of clouds and stars on the sides and sawdust from sanding everything until it was smooth. The room smelled of pine and varnish as Leorio put the finishing touches on the crib’s headboard. The air was cool from the open vent letting out fumes, and Leorio stood above the crib in a paint-splattered zip-up jacket shoved to his elbows, carefully stroking his paintbrush over the last of the crib. The lamp on a nearby table bathed the room in low light, catching on the elegant grace of Leorio’s fingers as he worked. He looked like the patron saint of woodworking and _sex_ in that moment. Beautiful and good and making a fucking _baby crib_ for his _sister_ with his _bare hands,_ good _fucking_ God Kurapika wanted this man to _destroy_ him.

Fortunately for them both, Leorio was too focused to notice Kurapika’s slowly unraveling threads of sanity. “Hey, thanks for coming. I’ve been stressing over this for a while, I’m almost done with this, just in time for the baby, thank goodness.” He ran a final stroke over the curve of the end of the bed, eyeing his handiwork with a critical eye. “What d’you think?”

Kurapika swallowed thickly. It was all he could do to tear his eyes from Leorio and actually admire his craftsmanship. “It’s beautiful, Leorio.”

“Heh.” Leorio put down the varnish and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Thanks. That means a lot. Anyway, what was it you wanted to –” He looked up and saw Kurapika standing in the doorway. His eyes went wide as he caught sight of what Kurapika held in his hands.

Now or never. Kurapika wrestled up up his last reserves of courage and dignity and marched over to stand in front of him, thrusting the basket into his chest. Leorio’s hands reflexively flew up to cover his, catching the wicker handles before he could drop it. Utterly baffled, he stared down at the basket in his hands. Understanding slowly dawned on his face as he examined its contents.

“It’s for Carmelita,” Kurapika explained, as if it might not be obvious. He started pointing at things. Now that the dam had broken, he was speaking too quickly as he said, “There’s bottles, and a binky, and a little bee plushie, and about a million diapers and formula, but let me know if the baby doesn’t like them or has allergies – and the blanket! The fabric vendors didn’t have anything chicken nugget themed, and the sales associate gave me a strange look when I asked, and I thought, bumblebees! Those are suitable for babies, and there’s not really anything gendered about them – that doesn’t matter. Well, it does, because she cares. Okay, anyway, moving on. One side is cotton, and the other is flannel. It should be washer and dryer-safe and hypoallergenic, but let me know if it’s not, I’ll make another one. It should breathe well and the baby should be able to move and wiggle around and not overheat, and it’s okay if the baby gnaws on it, and… and I can’t think of anything else.”

He finished his rambling outburst and snapped his mouth shut. Kurapika looked up at Leorio to gauge his reaction, worried he had overstepped. Leorio was not looking at the basket, however. He was staring at Kurapika like he had never seen him before, eyes wide and amazed and mouth slightly open.

“You – Kurapika – you…?”

Kurapika tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “Well. You mentioned before that you’ve missed a few family gatherings in this job, and I felt terrible about that. Your family is important to you. And nothing should get in the way of that. Especially something as mundane as a _job_. Also, I was an asshole earlier this week, and I still felt bad about that. So. This is my apology, as well as my well-wishes, because I know I only met Pietro once, but it was nice to spend time with him, and moreover they are all important to _you_ , and I am going to shut up now.”

Leorio was still silent. Kurapika wondered if he’d even heard a word he said. There was something in his expression, something so soft that Kurapika feared he might break if he spoke, something so fierce that Kurapika almost bowed backward under its weight. No one ever had looked at Kurapika like that, like he was a mystery and a force of nature and _home_ all in one. Like he was the only thing Leorio could see. Like he was the world, because to him, he _was_ the world.

Kurapika had only looked at one person like that, too, he realized.

_Because you’re in love with him,_ Pairo’s voice echoed in his head.

For a moment, he swore Leorio swayed into him. Testing the waters. Kurapika swore he did, too. Eyes lidded, breath suspended in his chest. Testing the moment, testing _them_. Testing that their foundation was strong enough to cross this bridge.

_Breathe. And trust it will be okay._

But Kurapika could not breathe. 

He could not get enough air, smothered here in his own anxieties.

_This isn’t fair to him._

_You deserve better to deny the validity of your own feelings. And so does he._

As one, they pulled back. The bubble popped, the moment passing. Leorio was still _looking_ at him like that, stunned, almost shell-shocked. But not upset.

“Thank you,” Leorio murmured. He smiled down into the basket, charmed and charming. He unraveled the handmade blanket, running a hand over its plush softness. “Really. This is… amazing for you. Lita’s gonna love it. So will Pete. And the baby.”

“Or course,” Kurapika said weakly. “Anything for family, right?” He took a step back. “I should…”

Leorio jerked a thumb toward the crib. Perhaps the low lights and Kurapika’s eyes were fooling him, but were his hands shaking?

“Yeah. Of course. I should finish this,” he said. He, too, stepped back from the ledge. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“You will,” Kurapika promised. He was having the strangest sense of déjà vu. “Have a wonderful time tomorrow. Goodnight.”

He was not sure how he made it home in one piece. Kurapika could not even remember the road. All he saw were Leorio’s hands as he worked. The angles of his face, so close he could feel his breath brushing his temple. All he felt was the vice squeezing his chest.

~

Saturday morning arrived brisk and chilly, but Kurapika was undeterred as the wedding ceremony was inside. He floated through the day in Professional Mode, focusing his full attention on each task as it came up. It kept things running smoothly. And it kept him from thinking about the near-physical weight of Leorio’s absence from his side. When had the man become such a part of Kurapika’s periphery that he felt like he was missing something without him?

It did not help that people kept looking around him expectantly whenever he walked into the room. Like they, too, expected Leorio to be attached to him. Which was ridiculous, because they were each their own unique person. Not a matched set.

(And if Kurapika felt off-balance himself, in his absence? Trembling under the uneven weight of everything he could not say? No one needed to know but him.)

At least the wedding plans went smoothly. Amane was a vision in a V-necked ball gown of light, floaty chiffon. The dress matched her eyes perfectly, but she seemed the most excited about the wedding present Canary gave her.

“Kurapika, look at these!” Amane cried, lifting her dress to her ankles and flaunting the white heels. Pearls and lace-wire butterflies alighted on her toes and at her ankles. “Canary found them online _months_ ago, she said, she’s been hiding them for the wedding since then, apparently I almost found them about eight times. And they match the brooch I got her for today as well!”

Kurapika had already seen the brooch when he checked on Canary. The blue-and-white crystal butterfly perched delicately on Canary’s lapel. It looked like a real butterfly hovering over the intricately crafted corsage Palm made for Canary’s suit. Kurapika could not wait for Amane to see the figure Canary cut in her white suit, with its soft blue vest and the low heels Canary insisted she needed because Amane, her beloved bride, would tower over her in her heels otherwise.

(“Not that I’m complaining,” Canary said. “But Amane is breaking six-two in those heels, and I’m five-five on a good day. I need _something_ to lift myself up.”

“We can probably find you a box to stand on,” Kurapika offered, straight-faced, and Canary laughed so hard Gel accidentally got nail polish on half her hand.)

As the day wore on, Kurapika intermittently checked his phone. He had a feeling Leorio would be feeling guilty again for not being there, and he wanted to head off his friend’s anxiety as he could. As anticipated, there was a text on every hour like clockwork, asking about table arrangements and the guests and the food and the cake.

Eventually, Kurapika had to put his foot down. _Leorio. Everything is fine. Spend time with your family._

_ok but tell me how the bar set-up went first,_ Leorio replied immediately. Kurapika imagined him shuffling off to the side to send the text, and he rolled his eyes around an absurd swell of affection.

_I will turn off my phone._

_sunshine noooo wait,_ Leorio wrote. _there’s so many people here and there are more diapers than i’ve ever seen in my life and i’m TERRIFIED bc the baby is going to use them in like a week_

_also they’re about to play a game with like, a melted chocolate bar in a diaper, and we have to guess what the chocolate bar is??? the chocolate is supposed to be poop btw._

Kurapika snorted aloud. Kalluto sent him a look out of the corner of their eye, but mercifully, they said nothing.

_I understood the premise, Leorio._

_then you also understand why i’m freaking out,_ Leorio wrote. _also lita is Meddling again. getting ma in on it, too._

_Ah, the capital-M Meddling,_ Kurapika wrote. He tried and failed to quell the rising tide of jealousy. _Another blind date?_

_i wish._

Kurapika blinked down at his phone. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Should he ask? Was he _supposed_ to ask? Would that be intrusive? Before he could decide, however, Leorio texted him again.

_sunshine. sunshine help. they want me to HELP melt the chocolate for the poop diapers. please call me with an emergency._

Kurapika laughed aloud. _I’m turning off my phone now. Have fun, Leorio. Sniff a diaper for me._

_TRAITOR!!!!!!!_ Leorio’s last text screamed as Kurapika’s phone screen went black. When he finally looked up again, it was to see Kalluto’s blush-pink eyes on him.

“What?” Kurapika asked.

“Nothing,” Kalluto said, not even trying to be convincing. Kurapika sent them an unimpressed look, and they shrugged.

“Would you look at the time?” They did not even glance at their watch. “I need to get my mixes ready. See you on the other side, Kurapika.”

They waved goodbye with an angelic smile completely at odds with the devilish glitter in their eyes. Kurapika sighed and pocketed his phone. It was wedding day, down to the wire, and he had a job to do.

~

Kurapika completely forgot about his phone as the rest of the night flew by. Amane and Canary’s ceremony was beautiful, full of inside jokes and soft professions of lifelong devotion and adoration. A white-blue butterfly settled onto Amane’s braid mid-way through the officiant’s speech and stayed for the rest of the vows. Gon seemed beside himself with glee at the shot. Amane could barely keep still, almost vibrating from emotion.

Receptions flowed smoothly by now, as their entire team was used to the seamless flow of drinks, food, cake, and party. As the couples danced on the floor and the reception remained in full swing, Kurapika found himself seated in the back with Killua, eating leftover hors d'oeuvres and sipping the neon-blue “Morpho Mojito” that Kalluto created as the specialty drink for the reception.

“How are things with Gon?” Kurapika asked, mostly because he was curious and partially because he wanted to watch Killua blush like a schoolgirl. He was not disappointed as a wave of crimson appeared at Killua’s neckline and rapidly crept north. He laughed faintly. “Never play poker, Killua.”

“Shut up,” Killua mumbled, stabbing his fork into his eighth slice of caprese. “It’s amazing. Obviously. _He’s_ amazing. He’s like…”

Killua trailed off. Kurapika slowly swirled his fork through his pasta entrée that he snagged from the leftovers in the back. Gently, he prodded, “He’s like…?”

“He’s like…” Killua frowned and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “He’s like. Okay, this is going to sound stupid.”

“I doubt that,” Kurapika told him gently. “But I promise I won’t laugh, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

From the way Killua’s expression softened, it seemed that was _exactly_ what he was worried about. He sighed, setting down his cutlery. “Okay. It’s like this. So you know how every year when winter comes, it gets really fucking cold? All the time?”

Kurapika tried really hard not to immediately break his promise. “I am aware.”

Killua flushed again like he’d read Kurapika’s mind. Still, he persisted, “And there comes a point, around January, where you’ve almost forgotten what it felt like to be warm? You’re used to the layers and the blankets and the ice and shoveling your driveway and scraping the goddamn snow off your car every morning. You haven’t seen the sun since November, and you’ve kind of forgotten what it looks like. You’ve kind of forgotten what it feels like to be properly warm.

“And then March rolls around, or April, or whatever. And the days get longer, and warmer, bit by bit. The ice melts and snow turns to slush. You barely even notice the changes. And then one day, you walk outside without a jacket and the world is goddamn _glowing_ and you’re _warm_ again.” Killua glowered at Kurapika like he _dared_ him to mock him. As if Kurapika ever could, before or especially after that speech. _“That’s_ what it’s like to be with Gon.”

“Hmm,” Kurapika murmured. He looked over the rest of the party. Gon was taking a break from filming and leading Nanika in a dance. As he watched, the song ended, and Alluka stepped away from her dance with Kalluto to join Gon for the next one. He sensed Killua watching this exchange as well. “Then I’m very happy for you, Killua. This was never what I anticipated when we started to work together. But I’m glad it’s working out for the best.”

“Thanks,” Killua muttered. He took another bite of caprese. “If you don’t mind me asking. How are… _things_ , with you and Leorio?”

Kurapika shook his head and did not bother to hide his world-weary chuckle at this one. It was perhaps the most diplomatic way Killua knew how to put it, and the young baker really deserved credit for trying. He considered for a few moments, trying to find the best way to describe it.

At last he confessed, “Slushy.”

Killua laughed high and bright like the first birds of spring.

It was late by the time Kurapika arrived back to his apartment. He yawned into his elbow and used his free hand to finally dig his phone out of his pocket. The screen lit up, and it started vibrating in his hand almost immediately as the backlog text messages started rolling in.

And kept coming. Kurapika frowned; those were a _lot_ of messages. He unlocked his phone and read: 

_**Leorio Paladiknight, 10:55pm.  
**this game is disgusting i hate this  
update: the differences between actual shit and a melted snickers bar? negligible.  
kurapika  
kurapika  
sunshine  
sunshine please turn on your phone  
it’s an emergency  
lita’s water broke and the baby is COMING holy shit  
like she’s having CONTRACTIONS contractions  
pete’s panicking and ma and pop are losing it and lita’s yelling loud enough to wake the dead  
we’re heading to Yorknew Gen_

Kurapika only had one shoe off and his keys still in his hand as he immediately dialed Leorio’s number. Almost immediately, the call connected.

_“Kurapika?”_

“Leorio!” Kurapika blurted. “I just got home from the wedding and I got your texts – what happened? Is everything alright? Is Carmelita well? And the baby? And –”

_“We’re okay, sunshine,”_ Leorio interrupted patiently. He sounded exhausted. _“Sorry for blowing up your phone, I was kind of freaking out for a minute there.”_

“It’s fine. It’s _understandable,”_ Kurapika corrected quickly. “What happened? What’s going on now?”

Leorio sighed. _“Someone had the bright idea to put candles on the baby shower cake – don’t ask who, I’ve no idea, or why, because I don’t know. It’s not a birthday cake. Well, it might be_ now _– anyway. Apparently blowing out the candles sent some kind of message that it was Go Time. Cue contractions and water breaking. So the whole party started losing its collective mind.”_

“Oh, Leorio,” Kurapika murmured sympathetically.

_“Yeah. Ma’s usually good in a crisis, but apparently seeing her daughter’s water break all over the family couch and usher in her first grandchild made her panic a bit. So I had to get folks to calm down, sent Serena and Azel to get the go bag from Pete and Lita’s place, and herded Lita and Pete to the hospital. Which was a really awkward Uber ride, I’ll tell you.”_

“I prefer Lyft, myself,” Kurapika joked. He was rewarded with a weary chuckle.

_“I’ll keep that in mind,”_ Leorio said warmly. _“Well, we’re in the hospital now. The entire Paladiknight family is here. Ma and pops just dozed off, and the others are sleeping in shifts so someone’s awake for the nurse. Or telling Emilio to shut up, because he read the Wikipedia article about infant and maternal mortality because he’s an anxious, morbid little monster.”_

“Oh, my God,” Kurapika said. “And what about you? How is Carmelita?”

_“I can hear her yelling sometimes,”_ Leorio said. _“She’s been having contractions since six. I’m not sure what counts as active labor and what doesn’t, but she woke up half the ward demanding an epidural, I think. Pete’s with her now having the bones in his hand rearranged. She’s always had a hell of a grip. And I’m not getting any sleep tonight, I’m sure.”_

“Oh, _hêja,”_ Kurapika murmured. The Kurtan endearment rolled off his tongue so easily he did not even notice it. “Can I do anything for you? Do you want me to come down there? I will. I don’t mind. My keys are still in my hand.”

Leorio did not reply right away. Eventually, he said, _“I really do. But I need to keep up this sort of face now, coordinate with folks and communicate and keep Pete and Lita calm, and my family and Pete’s parents calm, and I’m pretty sure if I see you I will lose all of my ability to stay calm, too. So. Thank you, but no.”_

“I see,” Kurapika said. Leorio sighed.

_“I just. With everything all happening at once, it gave me new appreciation for what you do,”_ Leorio confessed, which made Kurapika almost drop his keys in shock. _“The way you keep calm and put together when everyone is demanding your attention all at once. That’s how I made it through tonight, really. Just thinking about what you would do, and then doing that.”_

Which was perhaps _the_ most flattering thing anyone had ever said to him. Kurapika struggled to find his voice. “Well. Thank you. I… I am glad I was able to help.”

_“Yeah,”_ Leorio said faintly. There was the sound of voices on the other end. Kurapika heard Leorio say, _“Hey, ma, did I wake you?… Kurapika, ma… yes, from work… I, well, the wedding just ended, and it’s late, and he’s tired… um, sure, next time… Did the nurse say anything? Okay, I’ll be right there.”_ Kurapika swallowed his laughter when Leorio came back on the line. _“I’ve got to go.”_

“Of course,” Kurapika assured him. “Let me know what happens or if you need anything. _Any_ of you. I’ll keep my ringer on.”

_“Thanks.”_ Leorio sounded _so tired_. Kurapika wished he was there so badly it made his breastbone ache. He would do just about anything to lift this weight from Leorio’s shoulders. _“The nurse is waiting. It was… really good just to hear your voice. Goodnight.”_

“Goodnight,” Kurapika said with numb lips. “Get some rest.”

The line disconnected, and Kurapika stared blankly at the screen. _Baffled_ did not even cover the full depth of the surprise of his realization. Because for all of his desires to offer support, to _help_ , it never occurred to him that he might accomplish that simply by showing up.

~

Sunday passed by slowly. Kurapika made himself properly _rest._ He knew the next few weeks would be trying in just about every way: creatively, professionally, emotionally, mentally, physically. Good God, his _brother_ was getting _married._ Good God, he was _planning his brother’s wedding._

Kurapika spent the day doing chores: laundry, cleaning the kitchen, lint-rolling cat hair off of every surface, the usual. He kept his phone on him, the ringer all the way up, exchanging sporadic texts with Leorio throughout the day. The baby was born around five o’clock that morning, and Leorio had spent the day updating family and escorting his parents home to clean up and get some sleep.

It was the early afternoon when Kurapika finished all of his chores. For once he had the time and inclination to cook a real meal. Fish, green beans, and rice, with a little white whine. Kurapika had finally plated everything and put the wine back in the refrigerator when his phone buzzed again. Kurapika flipped his phone over to see his text. It was an incoming message from Leorio.

_**Leorio Paladiknight, 4:26pm**  
Hey, Kurapika, this is Pietro. I stole Leo’s phone. :p  
Meet Beatriz Marcela Rizzo, 6.9lbs (nice), 21in.  
Thanks for the blanket, diapers, & formula. Totally came in handy when we almost shat ourselves last night.  
Come by for dinner sometime to say hello! We miss you at the pub._

There was a picture attached to the message. Leorio, sitting in a hospital recliner, his first niece swaddled in a white blanket patterned with baby birds. Her round little face was still red and oddly squished, like her body wasn’t sure quite yet how it was supposed to look. Leorio was in profile, beaming down at Beatriz with a slightly dazed, stunned expression, like he could not believe it was possible to hold something so small and fragile, how it was possible to _love_ something so much and not collapse under the weight of it. Kurapika’s eyes roamed over his face, greedily drinking in the sight of this beautiful, good man, strong arms cradling his sister’s child like she was the most important thing in the world, thrilled and awed and _floored_ , and… and… 

Kurapika blinked down at the picture. He read the message once, twice. He looked at the silly dolphin ceramic on his kitchen counter. The wide, empty expanse of his apartment, its only spots of color his throw blankets and the early versions of Pairo and Altair’s wedding clothes. Then he looked across the kitchen island at the empty space that Leorio so often occupied.

Then he was laughing. Nothing was particularly funny, except everything. He might be crying, though nothing was very sad, except everything. Because he was standing in the middle of his kitchen, alone but for Emperor twining around his ankles, mewling, and his little dolphin ceramic, and a table set for one, and miles and miles of wedding fabric he used to make everyone else happy, except himself. 

He was standing alone in his kitchen on a Sunday afternoon, laugh-crying over a text from Leorio’s best friend and a stolen photo of a stolen moment, and that made the constant ache in his chest double, then triple. The rubber bands around his heart and lungs pulled and pulled and finally snapped. Cupid ran out of arrows and finally, losing patience, decided to step down and punch Kurapika squarely in the chest, because oh, _oh_ , Kurapika was _so very much in love with Leorio._

Melody was right. Palm was right. Killua and Gon were right. Pairo was right. And it was _hysterical_ and _pathetic_ because Kurapika was _thirty-two_ and laughing until he cried, or crying until he laughed, alone in his kitchen over a picture that was so dearly _Leorio_ , sweet and kind and protective and giving and expecting nothing in return, and Kurapika was going to see him _tomorrow_ but he missed him so much he _ached_ because he loved him _so fucking much._ His show partner, his colleague, his best friend, his very _favorite_ person. Kurapika adored him. He wanted him. He _loved_ him. He was _in love_ with him.

They had one more wedding. One more month to make a decision. And everything just grew _infinitely_ more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there you have it, folks!!!! we are in the HOME STRETCH now!!! just two more chapters!!! 😭👀💖 i am SO EXCITED to write this i am diving in now to write this finale!!!!
> 
> also, "hêja" is a Kurdish word meaning "dear" or "precious." i looked at the hxh wiki about the Kurta, and it said in the trivia that the Kurta might be inspired by the Kurdish. so, headcanon accepted.


	10. i could live by the light in your eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pairo and altair's new year's eve wedding has arrived.
> 
> CW for anxiety and some sensuality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter where it all goes down! here we go! this chapter title is taken from ["i choose you" by sara bareilles.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lmGkIqu-mpc)
> 
> please note the changed/added tags! i spent a while figuring out if i wanted to increase the rating, and ultimately decided against it? but let me know if you think i should. if you'd like to skip the bits where it gets a bit heavy, feel free to skip the entire section that starts with "~~~"
> 
> please enjoy!

“Altair Aquilae. Wings of my heart –”

“Cheesy.”

“– From our first date, I knew that I would love you for the rest of my life. That I would marry you –”

_“Super_ cheesy.”

“– My life, my love, my only –”

“Those are _literally_ song lyrics.”

“Will you shut up?” Pairo snapped, throwing his notecards at Kurapika. “You’re supposed to be supporting me!”

“Says who? _I’m_ getting revenge for the past six months,” Kurapika replied nonchalantly. His eyes were starting to ache from the strain of embroidering, so he put down his needle and spun on around on his stool. Because he was a supportive big brother, he went to join Pairo on the couch. Pairo frowned up at him, looking young and miserable again. Kurapika sighed. Pairo was an adult, but when he pursed his lips and made that needy expression, he looked like he was four and begging for Kurapika to play Legos with him again. “C’mere, asshole.”

He held out an arm and let Pairo rest his head on his shoulder. The angle was a bit awkward, considering Pairo was the taller and broader of the two, but Pairo’s bulk was a comforting weight against his side.

“You’re being too nice,” Pairo mumbled. “What’s wrong?”

“Later,” Kurapika said instead of _nothing_. Because he was making progress, dammit. Or he was trying to. “We’re talking about you right now.”

“My favorite subject,” Pairo shared, and Kurapika rolled his eyes.

“I know. But what’s bothering you about these vows?” Kurapika asked. “You write for a living. You’ve been with Altair for years. So why do your vows sound like they were written by a Hallmark AI?”

“Screw you,” Pairo automatically replied, but he laughed as he said it. “I just. They’re our _wedding vows_. They need a higher level of artistry, right? Of elegance and eloquence? I can’t just stand up there in front of our friends and family and coworkers – oh, and the world, because this is going on TV – and say, ‘Altair Aquilae, I love you. I love the blue of your eyes, the glow of your smile, the way your hair flips in the wind like a flag. I love your laugh and your gentle nature. Every day you inspire me to be better than I was yesterday. I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you. I dedicate myself to you, today and every day, for the rest of my life, heart, mind, body, and soul.’”

Kurapika did not say anything. He simply let Pairo sit in his thoughts for a few moments. Then, Pairo broke the silence: “Motherfucker, I _hate_ it when you’re right.”

“I know,” Kurapika said, handing Pairo his pen. “That’s why I’m right all the time.”

Pairo stuck his tongue out at him, uncapping the pen with his teeth and scribbling down what he could remember of what he just said. Kurapika waited patiently for him to finish, scrolling through his delivery app on his phone and contemplating delivery versus cooking a lazy dinner.

“‘And… that… ass… is… _fine,”_ Pairo finished, brandishing the pen with a flourish. Kurapika almost choked on his breath.

“Mom and Dad will love that.”

“That’s the goal,” Pairo said blandly. He handed the fifth draft of his vows to Kurapika to review. Kurapika skimmed through the words, eventually nodding with approval.

“It’s a good start.”

“‘A good start,’” Pairo repeated dramatically. He snatched the notecard back. “You’re worse than my editor.”

“Thank you.” Kurapika moved to stand up. “Are we done here? Because I have more embroidery to do if your suit is going to be ready by the end of the month, not to mention all the other shit that goes into planning for this –”

“Nope, no, no, no, we’re not,” Pairo said, snatching Kurapika’s arm and yanking him back down. He gave a squawk of protest that made Emperor look up from his spot curled up on the windowsill. But since there were neither treats nor tuna attached to the scene before him, the little mongrel put his head down and went back to sleep. Traitor.

_“What?”_ Kurapika demanded. Pairo knew his irritation was just hot air, so he simply perched his elbow on the back of the couch and rested his chin in his hand. He smirked like the cat that got the canary. Oh, that metaphor hit different now.

“What happened?”

His smile was too wide, his eyes too knowing. Kurapika immediately looked out the window. “Nothing.”

Pairo huffed. “I’ll buy that nothing’s happened between you and Leorio yet. But _something’s_ up. Your shoulders aren’t higher than your ears anymore.”

“Screw you.”

“Screw _you.”_ Pairo flicked Kurapika’s earlobe. Kurapika swung his throw pillow at him. Pairo caught it with his chest, wrapping his arms around the projectile so Kurapika didn’t have more ammunition. “So? What’s up?”

Kurapika sighed. Just the _thought_ was enough to nearly give him hives. He thought he might actually throw up as he forced himself to say, his spine rigid, “You were… right.”

Pairo’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, dancing above his glasses frames. Wordlessly, he held up a finger, as if he thought Kurapika was going to say any more without a gun held to his head. He slipped his hand into his pocket to grab his phone and dialed.

“Hey, babe, it’s me, I just wanted to let you know I won and I will accept my million dollars in the form of check or gold bullion. Hope you’re having a good shift, I love you and can’t wait to marry you, _mwah.”_ He barely ended the voicemail before Kurapika snatched the pillow from his loose-limbed grip and clobbered him in the stomach with it.

“What the hell was _that?”_

“Altair and I had a bet going over whether or not you would realize you were into Leorio before or after the wedding. Being the cheerleader I am, I was on your side.” Kurapika smacked him with the pillow again. “Quit that!”

Pairo snatched the pillow back and threw it across the room. Once again, Emperor perked his head up at the sound. One again, when he saw there was nothing in it for him, he returned to his scheduled nap. “So, what did it? What word are we using?”

Kurapika couldn’t handle saying it out loud yet, so instead he pulled out his phone and went to his message history with Leorio. He simply handed Pairo his phone and let his brother laugh at his dilemma. Pairo let out a low whistle when he saw the picture of Leorio and his niece.

“Ah,” Pairo said simply. Kurapika saw his eyes trace Leorio’s jawline, the flex of his forearms, the smile on his face as he held Beatriz for the first time. Eventually he nodded to himself and silently handed back Kurapika’s phone. For a few minutes they sat in silence. They both lounged back against the cushions, staring at the loft’s high ceilings. Finally, he spoke:

“It’s love, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Kurapika confessed softly. He sensed Pairo’s genuine smile, though he could not see it.

“It’s pretty great, huh?”

“Yeah,” Kurapika agreed. He’d known for a week now that what he felt for Leorio was love. Real, genuine, hand-to-heart _love_. The kind that made him want to hum in the shower and dance in his kitchen and smile at strangers on the street. It was disgusting. And amazing. He looked in the mirror and hardly recognized himself when he thought of who he was six months ago. In all the best ways.

And the wildest part? Nothing had even changed at work. Kurapika and Leorio still joked and bickered. Leorio showed off every single picture of Beatriz that he received, which was many, all the time. Kurapika still tended to lose himself in his work and overthink everything. For all the months he spent worrying about his life falling apart if he identified his feelings, he found himself feeling… lighter, for having looked them in the eye and named them. Relieved.

(He would _die_ before he _ever_ told Pairo that, however.)

“What’re you gonna do about it?” Pairo asked. Kurapika shrugged, because now wasn’t _that_ the million-dollar question?

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted.

Kurapika was in love with his best friend, and he had just over three weeks to decide what he wanted to do about it.

~

Gon was practically _vibrating_ on Kurapika’s couch. Kurapika suspected Gon might have just leapt up and done cartwheels across the loft to burn off his excess energy, but Emperor was nestled in a purring lump on his lap, so Gon’s overeager antics were briefly stymied.

“What’s got you so worked up?” Leorio asked, accepting the cup of coffee Kurapika handed him. If he saw the way Kurapika’s eyes lingered on the curl of his arms as he leaned on his counter, he ignored it. He made himself return to his coffee maker and pour himself a cup.

“We’re meeting Kurapika’s _brother!”_ Gon cried, looking aghast that Leorio did not seem to share his joy. “And it’s our last wedding! Then we get to relax and put the show together and start looking for more couples! And it’s the holidays, my first holiday season with Killua! This is going to be the _best month ever!”_

Kurapika and Leorio very deliberately did not meet one another’s eyes after that little speech. Start looking for couples, indeed. With a barely-suppressed guilty shudder, he realized that Gon still had no idea Kurapika was considering not returning. And if Gon did not know, then there was no way the rest of the Zoldycks knew, either. He sipped his coffee to hide the way his throat closed up, his eyes stinging.

_Thanks, Kurapika. You’re… you’re really nice._

_Being part of this project… it’s like someone turned on the color again. Because of you, the world feels big and full of promise again. And our family has grown._

Kurapika suddenly realized that the Zoldycks would be _crushed_ if he left. He thought of the mischievous twitch in Kalluto’s brow when they thought of something funny and scathing, of Nanika’s bright giggle and love for hugs, of Alluka’s effusive cheer and kindness and how she never missed a wedding dance, of Killua’s shy bluster and childish pranks.

_I don’t want to leave them. I don’t want to leave this. I don’t… I want… But…_

The door buzzed, jolting Kurapika from his thoughts. The rest of the world came rushing back in: Emperor’s mewl as he leapt off of Gon’s lap to paw at the door; Gon’s little yelp of surprise and delight, the noise as he scrambled for his camera; Leorio’s silent, concerned eyes on him. His expression was bright and unreadable.

_You alright?_ He silently asked. Kurapika sent him a short, distracted nod, setting down his coffee. His internal code-switching buttons were mashing together in all the worst ways – how was he supposed to act? Professional? But that would be weird with his brother. But on camera, he could not be too personal, because the editors and executives and viewers would be expecting a certain level of poise from him, especially at this point. Or would that come across as affected? Rude and standoffish?

The anxiety had a stranglehold around his neck, sharp claws digging into his throat, and when he opened the door he still had not decided on his ratio of personal to professional. So Gon had a front-row view with a running camera to watch Kurapika whip his front door open with the flourish of a ringmaster-turned-used-car-salesman and greet his brothers with, “Welcome, assholes.”

Pairo’s brows instantly rocketed toward his hairline, silently asking, _are you fucking possessed?_ Gon stifled a snort and nearly dropped the camera. Leorio laughed so hard he choked. Altair just looked around at all of them, taken aback and amused, his hands full with a covered plate.

“Good morning to you, as well, Kurapika,” Altair greeted. He held out the plate. “Mini-muffins?”

Thank _God_ for Altair. Kurapika stepped back and held out an arm to usher them inside. “Yes, please.” As his brothers entered, he added, “This is Gon, our cameraman. And you remember Leorio.”

“Oh, do we,” Pairo muttered as he passed, and Kurapika made a mental note to review this particular pair’s footage with Gon. He sublimated his desire to stick out his foot for Pairo to trip over and put a smile on his face for the cameras. Pairo beamed at Gon.

“Hey, hello! We’ve heard so much about you from Kurapika,” he said, ignoring the camera and greeting Gon. Gon hefted the camera with one strong arm and shook Pairo and Altair’s hands with his free one.

“Same! It’s so nice to finally meet!” Gon cried. He winced, his voice far too loud as he half-yelled into the camera’s sensitive microphone. Awkwardly, he yanked the earbuds out. “I feel like we’ve already met!”

“Likewise,” Pairo agreed. His smile was wide and genuine. Cutting Kurapika a side glance, he leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “Don’t believe everything Kurapika said about me. I’m even more charming in person.”

“You’re not even charming in my _stories,”_ Kurapika reminded him, gently elbowing him aside as he walked past to head to the kitchen. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Pairo and Altair chorused. As one, they turned their Cheshire smiles to Leorio.

“It’s so great to see you again!” Pairo greeted. “Thanks again for taking such good care of Kurapika.”

Oh, Kurapika realized as he poured his utter nightmare of a brother a mug of his hard-brewed coffee. This episode was going to have absolutely no footage, because Pairo was going to definitely spend the entire time making ceaseless fun of him. He poured Altair a cup, as well, praying for patience. At least Altair was on his side.

“Oh?” Gon asked, tipping his head quizzically to the side. “You’ve met?”

“Leorio swung by to take care of Kurapika when he was sick last month,” Altair explained. He smiled up at Leorio. “Thank you again.”

Leorio coughed faintly. His face was still red, though that might be leftover from coughing up half his cup of coffee a few moments ago. “Yeah, of course. Always. Uh, any time, I mean.”

Altair’s finely-shaped eyebrows rose as well. Kurapika almost punted Emperor across the apartment in his haste to stop _this_ conversation in its tracks.

“Oh, the day Leorio bailed on the Mario Kart marathon! We still have to reschedule,” Gon added thoughtfully, like that was the most important takeaway from that tangent. Kurapika thrust the coffee into Pairo’s hands, almost upsetting his balance as he toed off his snowy, damp shoes.

“Let’s talk about the wedding!” Kurapika said loudly. “Altair, are those chocolate chip?”

“Of course,” Altair said, lifting the glass plate. He led the way over to the couch like he owned the place, Pairo following in his footsteps. He made sure to send Kurapika a wink as he passed. Kurapika closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose, praying for a minor catastrophe.

Fortunately, his brothers took mercy on him when they started to talk about the wedding plans. Kurapika knew most of this already, because Pairo and Altair ran just about every idea they had by him in the past six months, so he sat back and let himself enjoy his coffee and eat the mini-muffins Altair made fresh that morning. God, they were _still warm_. Kurapika wanted to push Pairo down a flight of stairs and keep Altair as his brother. Did they allow trade-ins? 

Not that Kurapika ever would want Pairo out of his life, of course. This was the little boy who woke up one day and suddenly had a big brother living in what used to be his house’s guest room, sitting at their dinner table, strapped into a second car seat in the sedan. He could have been suspicious and jealous of this skinny blond boy who looked nothing like him and refused to ever call him his _brother_. But he only looked up at Kurapika with those solemn burgundy eyes and asked if he liked Legos. When Kurapika awoke from nightmares of squealing rubber and breaking glass, crying and shaking and curling up under his dinosaur-patterned blankets, the toddler would sneak out of his room to wiggle into his, bringing his very favorite and most-worn toys to guard them in the night.

Even as they grew, and changed, and they were intermittently popular and picked on, as they jumped between sports and clubs and activities trying to figure themselves out. They argued about clothes, shows, shared space, crushes, chores, friends, theater, what snacks to get for a road trip, what movie to watch every single Friday night between ages seven and eighteen (okay, they _still_ did that), what gifts to get their parents for Christmas, who got the car for date night, for prom. Anything and everything. They could be bratty and petty, mean and childish. Even cruel, once or twice. But there were some lines they never crossed. Kurapika never mocked Pairo for being chubby or for his terrible eyesight (his eyes were so bad he legally could not drive). Pairo never mocked Kurapika for the days his head and his body could not agree with what they wanted to be. 

(Though they did mock each other for their taste in boys, and then men, because that was fair game).

As bad as things got, they never shouted, _you’re not my real brother._

And they always made up.

Kurapika would joke about trading Pairo in for a better model like one would a cell phone, but he would fight everything from the world to the very forces of nature if anything ever happened to him. This was the boy who came crying to him when some neighborhood kids were burning ants with a magnifying glass in the sun and then covered for him when their parents asked why he had a bloody nose. This was the man who went to every one of his art shows in high school and college and all of his fashion shows in his twenties. The one who called him one Friday night after a charity gala for the children’s hospital and said, _“Kurapika, I just met the man I’m going to marry.”_

Three years later, that same man was sitting on Kurapika’s couch, left hand laced in Pairo’s, his engagement ring flashing in the cold winter sunlight streaming in through the windows.

Kurapika was going to give his brother the best and most beautiful wedding he possibly could, because he, himself, would accept no less.

This final episode of _Light of My Life’s_ first season would be a little different than the previous ones. Kurapika already had started their outfits (tucked safely behind the mirror in the corner, where neither the show team nor the couple could see their progress). He also knew how the pair wanted their wedding decorated, which meant that ninety percent of his work was done there, as well. Pairo and Altair wanted their flowers to be white, as was Kurta new year tradition, with red and purple roses to match their color scheme; they also wanted as little electric light as possible, which meant a bunch of candles, which was something to discuss with their reception space. In a pinch, they could get away with a metric fuck-ton of string lights.

Kurapika sat back and watched his brothers interact with Leorio and Gon, his worlds colliding in the strangest way. It was almost surreal, watching Leorio and Pairo talk about that vigilante show they’d all binged over the summer (they agreed that the vigilante was an idiot, if a well-intentioned one, and that it was supremely obvious from the very beginning that the doctor knew his secret identity, a take that Kurapika disagreed with on a strangely personal level), or watching Gon and Altair exchange cooking recipes, or hearing Gon talk about nursing injured animals back on Whale Island. He’d worried this introduction would feel weird. And it did, but not as much as Kurapika feared. And it was the feeling of comfort and _contentment_ that far outweighed brief discomfort. The venn diagram of his life – its separate spheres of _personal_ and _professional_ – met in the middle, and the skies did not fall.

In fact, Kurapika found himself joining in the conversations and edging them along where he could. He told Altair of Leorio’s weakness for medical dramas, and the pediatric surgeon started rambling on about which ones were actually medically accurate and not completely batshit (“Now, I know _Grey’s_ isn’t watched for its accuracy, but if you want accuracy _and_ drama, what you really want is _Code Black –”_ “That’s what I’ve heard! Kurapika and I have watched it, we’re only halfway through season one so no spoilers –”). He mentioned to Gon that Pairo had wrestled in high school, and the two went on to talk about their records and best matches.

At one point, Leorio noticed Kurapika’s quiet attitude. He sent him a questioning look, tilting his head. _You alright?_

In truth, there were so many emotions crowding up Kurapika’s chest that he could not quite name any of them. If he was going to name the loudest and strongest at the moment, however, the one making his lungs expand like balloons and nearly carry him away – he might describe that one as _relief_.

He simply sent Leorio a short nod and a smile that he hid in the rim of his mug, lest it crack across his face.

Which was why he was glad to return to earth when Pairo asked Kurapika, “And what have you got planned for our bachelor party, best man of mine?”

Kurapika rolled his eyes and reached for his third mini-muffin. “I’m already planning your _wedding_. Is that not enough for you?”

“No,” Pairo said blandly.

“Tough.”

Pairo stuck his tongue out at Kurapika in a loud, fat raspberry. Kurapika sent him a filthy look, wrinkling his nose.

“We’ve already discussed this,” Kurapika confessed at last to Pairo and Altair, indicating the rest of the wedding team. “Since so much of the prep work has already been done, we plan to focus on other aspects of the wedding planning for the show, such as the food and cake tasting. And because this is the only wedding one of the team members is participating in, we would like your permission to show more of the bachelor party and wedding footage. Leorio will take over as the main planner the day of the wedding. Is that acceptable?”

“Yeah, of course,” Pairo said, waving his hand. He glanced to his fiancé. “No need to be so stiff, it’s fine. Altair?”

“Of course!” Altair agreed instantly as well. He perched his chin on his hand, smirking at Kurapika. “However, this does _not_ absolve you from the bachelor party. Planning _or_ participating.”

Because Kurapika was not busy enough. But he’d known what he was getting into when he agreed to plan Pairo’s wedding and be his best man, so he only nodded. “Of course. What would you like?”

Pairo shrugged. “The wedding is going to be so big, with our families coming into town for it and the holiday and all. So I’d like a smaller event with _way_ fewer people. You, Pika, and Leorio, and Gon, of course. Some of Altair’s cousins and a few friends from work. Shouldn’t be more than… ten? Altair, am I missing anyone?”

“I don’t think so,” Altair said thoughtfully. “I’m with you on that. I don’t want anything too big or extravagant. I just want good food, good drinks, and good company. Do you know a place that might be good for that?”

“Boy, do I!” Leorio yelped before Kurapika could speak. He frowned for a moment, confused, before he realized what Leorio was thinking.

“Leorio –”

“C’mon, it’s perfect, sunshine!” Leorio insisted. He turned his sunburst smile on Kurapika, eager eyes and dimple completely obliterating any weak argument he could have made before they were even fully formed in his brain. When had Kurapika lost the ability to say no to this man? Could he ever in the first place? 

Leorio started ticking off on his fingers. “Good food. Good drinks. Good company.” He turned to Pairo and Altair, who were waiting patiently with shared bemused expressions. They were very carefully not looking at each other or, interestingly, Gon. “My best friend owns a bar down by the docks. It’s a bit of a dive, but it’s got everything you’re looking for. It could be really fun on a weekend. And it won’t be a ton of work for Kurapika to plan at the last minute, so he can focus on pulling everything together for the wedding day.”

Kurapika could _kiss_ him. He really could. Right here, right now. Just grab his cheeks and plant one right on that beautiful, clever mouth.

Pairo and Altair looked at each other, sharing a silent conversation. A few moments later, they grinned at the wedding team. “That sounds great. Let’s do it!”

~

“Ready to head in, sunshine?”

“You look very handsome, sunshine.”

“Do you think he’ll have a drink ready for you, sunshine?”

“I,” Kurapika said through gritted teeth as he parked the car, _“Will_ drop-kick you into the bay.”

Pairo and Altair cackled aloud. Kurapika would have sworn that they’d already pre-gamed if they weren’t already like that all the time. Annoying. Supportive. Disgustingly in love and in sync. Still, Kurapika groaned and lay his forehead against his steering wheel.

“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up, get it out of your systems. Don’t come crying to me when you’re freaking out because you can’t find your keys.”

“You’re DD,” Pairo reminded him. “And that was _once.”_

Altair’s eyes went wide. “Oho, a story I haven’t heard?”

Kurapika’s grin widened. “He hasn’t _told_ you? One time, in college, Pairo went to a frat party like the disaster gay he is. He didn’t know yet Jell-O shots had liquor in them, and no one _told_ him, so at three in the morning I got a phone call from Pairo saying –”

“Okayokayokayokay,” Pairo yelled, practically diving over the center console to shove his hands over Kurapika’s mouth. “You’ve made your point! I will not say anything about Leorio having feelings for you, even though he totally does, until we’re inside and see him – _ew!”_

Kurapika, tired of his shit, had licked his palm. Altair patiently yanked Pairo back into his seat. “Are we going to go inside? Or are we going to sit in this car like creeps all night?”

“Inside,” Kurapika and Pairo chorused obediently, and they piled out of the car. The air was colder here by the bay, the buildings lower and the wind sharper with fewer things in the way to stop them. Kurapika’s bangs fluttered in his face no matter which way he turned, leaving him spitting out strands of hair and ruining his careful half-bun.

The inside of _Harry’s_ looked exactly as Kurapika remembered it from his first visit; he had a feeling little had changed about the shop’s basic architecture since the forties. The same rough-hewn, clean bar top and seats, the same velvet booths, the same slightly-grainy TVs showing sports games, and the same dartboard and pool table in the back. Kurapika had barely stepped foot inside when there was a sudden yell from the direction of the bar.

He jerked up, startled, to see Leorio, Gon, and Killua at the bar with some of the regulars that Kurapika vaguely recognized from the first time he visited. Gon dragged Killua by the sleeve to meet Pairo and Altair, his cell phone out to record the bachelor party shenanigans (Bisky had informed their team that they would _not_ be bringing a twenty-thousand dollar video camera to a _bachelor party_ at a _bar,_ and she would tar and feather them all if they tried to). Kurapika ushered them to the counter, where a familiar man was standing.

Pietro looked as handsome as ever, if exhausted. Still, he greeted them with a wide grin that brightened his entire face.

“Kurapika! Dude, it’s _so good_ to see you, we’ve missed you!” He reached over the counter to clap Kurapika in a one-armed hug, which surprised him. To his even greater surprise, he found he did not mind. Beaming, Pietro turned to the happy couple. “Now, I understand from Leorio that you two have a very special night tonight.”

“It’s our bachelor party!” Pairo announced over the general din of the crowd. “We’re getting married in…” He frowned, doing the math in his head, bless him. “...Thirteen days!”

“New Year’s Eve!” Pietro noted excitedly. He started reaching under the bar. “Congratulations!” He leaned over the bar to wink at them. “The name’s Pietro. You can call me Pete. Come to me for your drinks tonight. Half off the whole bar.”

“Pietro,” Kurapika gasped, though his protests were drowned out by Pairo and Altair cheers. “Are you sure?”

“I am,” Pietro said with a firm nod. There was an odd expression on his face as he studied Kurapika. _“Harry’s_ tradition. Friends and family discount on special occasions. They’re your family. And you’re Leorio’s friend.” He started pouring shots. Pairo and Altair whooped even louder, prompting Killua and Gon to come over as well.

“Come on, come _on,_ _”_ Pairo begged Kurapika. “Just one!”

“I am your _designated driver,”_ Kurapika reminded them.

“It’s _eight,”_ Pairo reminded him. “We’re going to be here till late. Partying. Getting lit. Winning darts and billiards. It’s okay to have a few early in the night.”

“Or are you too out of the game to handle it, old man?” Killua smirked.

Pairo roared with laughter. “I _love_ this kid!”

Kurapika sighed. He threw up his hands into the air, accepting defeat and turning to Pietro with a long-suffering expression. _“Please_ no tequila.”

Pietro winked at him as he handed over a shot of vodka.

_You’re Leorio’s friend._ It was true. It was in this very bar that Kurapika realized Leorio was his very _best_ friend. But now he heard the word and it left him with a faint hollow feeling in his chest. Because he was. But he wished he was more. He wished they could be more.

_Selfish,_ Kurapika chided himself. _Ambitious. Always wanting more._

But for now, Kurapika smiled, genuinely touched. He licked the last of the bitter vodka from his lips. “Thank you. That… that means everything, really. How is Carmelita doing? And how is Beatriz?”

“Lita’s doing well!” Pietro said, looking delighted Kurapika had asked. He was already reaching into his pocket for his phone. “She’s exhausted, of course, and I wish I could be home with her more, but we gotta keep the bar going. Her mother’s been great, coming by a few times a week. And the rest of her siblings have been great. Serena and Altea are really good with Bea, but Emilio is actually the best with her, once he figured out how to hold her without fearing he would drop her. And of course she _adores_ Leo. Have you met them yet? Leo’s siblings?”

_Yet._ Kurapika swallowed. Why would Pietro assume he was going to meet them at all? “Ah, no.” He looked thoughtfully at a few pictures of Beatriz – sleeping, eating, smiling up at her mother or father or a woman who could only be her grandmother. Kurapika asked, “I noticed you mentioned Leorio’s mother. But not your own.”

He let the question linger in the air, giving Pietro the space to ignore or sidestep the question, or outright tell him to fuck off if he wanted. Instead, Pietro just sent him a faint smile. “She died when I was a kid. My dad, he’s great, but he worked double shifts a lot just to keep a roof over our heads and me fed. The Paladiknights basically took me in as an unofficial son. Leo was always my best friend, and they were already my family, but since the wedding, everything has been so much more solid.” Pietro looked longingly down at his daughter. “She never got to meet my mom. But she’s named for her. Beatriz.”

“It’s a beautiful name,” Kurapika said quietly. He wasn’t sure if Pietro could hear him over the general din in the bar, but from the way Pietro’s gaze went glassy, he had a feeling the man heard him. Kurapika found himself confessing, “I lost my parents when I was five. Car accident. I was placed with Pairo’s family a few months later, who were looking to foster other Kurta kids in the system.”

“Ah,” Pietro said. His eyes flicked between Pairo and Kurapika. “I wondered.”

Kurapika snorted. “You’re not the first. Nor will you be the last.”

Pairo laughed, throwing his head back in the air. His earrings glinted in the low light. When he stopped, he sent Kurapika a small smile. “I’m really sorry that happened, Kurapika.”

“Thanks,” Kurapika replied, touched. “It was so long ago. I barely remember it.”

“Long ago, but some wounds still ache, yeah?” Pietro asked. “And barely remembering is one of the worst parts.”

Kurapika hummed thoughtfully. “I agree.”

Pietro grinned faintly. At that moment, there was a shout as Altair suddenly appeared behind Kurapika’s shoulder, latching on for balance, the legendary lightweight. “Ohmigod, is that a _baby?”_

Pietro laughed. “My daughter.”

“She’s beautiful!” Altair announced, loud enough half the bar cheered in agreement. “I should know, I work for a children’s hospital. I can say with certainty that she is _the_ most adorable baby I have ever seen. And that – _ooooh,”_ Altair cooed. “Is that a bumblebee blanket? And a little bumblebee plushie?”

“It is,” Pietro said patiently. Pairo waddled up to stand on Kurapika’s other side. Kurapika sent Pietro a look that begged for another shot to get him through this. With a laugh, Pietro grabbed the vodka to indulge him. “Kurapika made it, actually.”

“You _made_ that?” Altair asked, awed and amazed, which was hilarious because Kurapika had spent the past four weeks breaking his back and neck and stabbing at his own fingers to sew his wedding suit.

“He did,” Pietro confirmed. “Beatriz loves it. It’s her favorite blanket. And she never wants to go anywhere without her bumblebee.”

“Aww,” Pairo cooed this time. He poked Kurapika’s cheek. “You big sweetheart.”

At that moment, one of the other bartenders arrived with a bottle of something light amber with a lime wedge shoved into the top. He slid it to Kurapika.

“I didn’t order this,” Kurapika said instantly, positive this was a mistake. The red-headed bartender snickered.

“Yeah, I know. Courtesy of the gentlemen –” For whatever reason, he snickered on this word “–at the end of the bar.” He nodded in the direction. Confused, Kurapika turned his head (his brothers following suit, so they looked like they were in a _Scooby-Doo_ bit) and saw Leorio sitting across the bar, a rocks glass in his hands. When he caught Kurapika’s eye, he sent him a wink before turning back to his conversation with Gon and Killua.

Kurapika _literally_ felt himself start sweating as his brothers and Pietro turned their gaze on him, like cats cornering a rat.

“Shut up,” Kurapika said immediately. He reached for the beer, sticking the lime down the bottle’s neck and sipping. Pairo gasped.

“Oh my God, you are _whipped,”_ he stage-whispered. Altair snickered. Pietro’s eyes glittered knowingly, but he kept whatever thoughts he had to himself. “I’ve never seen you willingly drink beer in my _life.”_

Kurapika did not spit the beer out through his nose, but it was a near thing. He hissed, “Shut up, I am _not._ And it’s not _that_ bad.”

“Thanks,” Pietro said dryly. From the smile on his face, he was greatly enjoying his personal _Three Stooges_ revival.

_“Super_ whipped,” Altair sang. He flicked out a hand, making a _wa-psh!_ sound. Kurapika prayed for the earth to swallow him whole. Time to pull out the big guns.

“Tequila and darts?” He asked. “And then wings?”

The triple-threat worked. Pairo and Altair whooped eagerly, linking their arms together as they knocked back their tequila and then dragging Kurapika to the back corner to play. Which was hilarious, because none of them actually knew _how_ to play darts; they just liked throwing sharp things at a wall to hear the satisfying _thunk_ of the needle digging into the board and seeing who could hit the closest to the center. If they were loud, they were no louder than the rest of the bar. There was a hockey game on, and the folks lining the bartop and filling the booths were shouting at the screen loud enough the goalie might actually hear them insulting his ability to block and his weak punches. Interestingly, Gon and Killua were swept up in the rush as well.

To Kurapika’s surprise, as folks in the bar learned that Pairo and Altair were celebrating their bachelor party, the drinks started flowing to their corner. People came up to wish them congratulations and give their own pieces of advice and hard-learned wisdom. Don’t go to bed angry; say “I love you” as often as you think it; buy a bigger bed than you think you need; keep _dating_ each other, as well as living your married life; take as many pictures as you can; prepare for fights where you’re both right and both wrong; you are going to develop very intense opinions on things you would never think twice about now. Pairo and Altair graciously accepted the drinks and well-wishes, growing steadily more effusive and emotional as the night went on. Kurapika was enjoying his buzz, but he knew he needed to stop the alcohol consumption now if he was going to DD and sober-sit his brothers. Which he was more than fine with as he left Gon, Killua, and his brothers to an increasingly dangerous and ridiculous series of trick shots to return to the bar for a drink. Leorio was sitting at the bar, picking at a plate of fries and chatting with Pietro as he washed dishes. He could not hear what the two were saying as Kurapika tapped a hand over the back of an empty chair and asked, “Is this seat taken?”

Leorio half-swiveled around in his chair. He’d dressed up for the bachelor party, in a collared shirt and blazer and jeans that made Kurapika’s mind go fuzzy. He grinned at Kurapika and his eyes shone in the low lights. “It is now.”

Smooth bastard. Kurapika lithely slid into the chair, grateful that he still had his balance as his head spun like the inside of a snow globe. Pietro sent them a little smile and turned to the rest of the bar patrons. Kurapika observed, “You’ve been back here for a while.”

Leorio laughed faintly, ducking his head. “I wanted to give you and your brothers some space. Time to party and be a family. I didn’t want to intrude on that.”

“You’re not intruding,” Kurapika insisted, poking Leorio on the bicep. Oh, mistake. His arm was warm and muscled. _Mmm._ “You were invited. We _want_ you here.”

Leorio smiled faintly, sipping his beer. “I’d win at darts.”

“Doubt it,” Kurapika replied immediately. He dropped his chin into his hand, peering around the bar. He felt loose-limbed and light and _warm_. Wow, he really liked it here. Wow, he really liked _Leorio_. He'd left his hair ungelled tonight, and it curled softly around his ears and at the nape of his neck. Kurapika _itched_ to slide his hands through his hair, nails dragging over the back of his neck until he was nothing but chills and goosebumps. He knew they were in public, and he would never, but God if he wouldn’t _die_ to set his other hand on his thigh and lean in, trailing his lips over the column of Leorio’s neck, nip his earlobe, and tell him _exactly_ what he was going to do to him when they got home.

Leorio poked his cheek, making him jump. “Sunshine. Where’d you go? You totally zoned out. What’s on your mind?”

Internally, Kurapika stamped uselessly on the flames of lust licking up the inside of his chest. Externally, he smiled and blandly lied, “Wings.”

The red-headed bartender snorted so hard he coughed. Kurapika ignored him. Leorio sent him a dirty look.

“Got something to say, Zep?”

“Nope.” Zep _absolutely_ did, but he was not going to say anything from the business side of the bar. He dried his hands and tossed the dishtowel over his shoulder. “Wings, you said?”

“Yes,” Kurapika said. “Boneless. The spiciest sauce you have.”

Zep let out a low, impressed chuckle. “Sounds like the gossip mill was right. I like him, Leo.”

“Fuck off,” Leorio said wearily. He held out his pint glass. “Can I get a refill and this guy a water, please?”

Kurapika was only passingly aware of this conversation as shouts erupted in the back corner. It seemed Killua had procured an apple from somewhere, and he’d successfully lobbed the dart through its center. Gon, whose head served as the apple’s pedestal, stepped forward to dip Killua into a deep kiss, because this apparently impressed him greatly. The rest of the crowd cheered, as well, though that could have also been the hockey team scoring. The bar was _chaos_ in the best ways, loud and eager and welcoming. It was the polar opposite of the dainty holiday parties Kurapika attended this time a year ago, dressed in a suit instead of jeans and a shirt and jacket, sipping wine and nibbling crudités instead of knocking back vodka and drinking a beer.

This was better. Everything was _so much better_. Kurapika loved this. He never wanted to leave. If he could have saved this moment forever in a photograph, frozen it into a snowglobe, he would have. Anything to prolong the moment and put off the pain. Anything to put off his decision.

Zep arrived with Leorio’s refill and a glass of water for Kurapika. “I’ll put in your wings in just a minute.”

Kurapika nodded absently, watching Pietro bring the bachelor boys yet another round. “Everyone here is so nice. How did they all know that it’s their bachelor party?”

“Oh, well.” Leorio stuck his nose in his glass, taking a few nervous gulps. Kurapika shamelessly let his eyes follow the smooth slope of skin down his throat and collarbones to the top of his sternum. “That was probably because of, um, me.”

Kurapika’s eyes snapped up to Leorio’s face. Blankly, he asked, “What?”

He could be wrong, because of the alcohol, but he swore Leorio went red. Still not meeting Kurapika’s eye, he confessed, “I, uh, knew you had a lot going on, with planning the bachelor party and the wedding and all. And I knew there wasn’t a lot I could do to help. But when folks started coming up to say hi and commented on the crowd, I mentioned they were your brother and future brother-in-law celebrating their bachelor party. Community and celebration are really huge around here, so they all started chipping in for drinks and food and stuff. Didn’t want you breaking the bank giving your brother a good night.” He looked down at Kurapika. “I’m sorry if I overstepped. Do you mind?”

Did Kurapika mind? Did he _mind?_ He was about to have his way with Leorio in the back of his _car_ , holy _shit_ , Kurapika was _in love_ with this man.

Kurapika shook his head, helpless to stop the fond smile curling his lips and not even bothering to try. “Never, _hêja_ _._ Thank you.”

A theatrical gasp made him and Leorio turn around in their seats. Pairo and Altair stood together, gaping at Kurapika with all the subtlety of an elephant on an iceberg. Altair kept slapping at Pairo’s arm, wordlessly screaming, _did you see that, Pairo, darling, did you see that?_ Pairo caught Altair’s hand in his.

_This seems familiar,_ Kurapika mused.

_“‘_ _Hêja?’”_ Altair demanded. “Pika, you call him _hêja?_ Pairo, you don’t call me that!”

“I call you _delal,”_ Pairo sniffed, although his smirk rivaled Killua’s when it came to mischievous impishness. The expression promised, _I will remember this sober, and I will never give you another moment of peace._ “And _evîna min_ on very special occasions.”

“Vile,” Kurapika announced. “Disgusting. You’re walking home.”

Leorio looked between them, confused. “Um. What does _hêja_ mean?” He looked at Kurapika. “You called me that a few weeks ago, too.”

_“Did_ he?” Pairo was practically _vibrating_ with suppressed bastard energy. He sent Kurapika a look that said, _you wanna tell him, or me?_

Kurapika was going to kill him. Lovingly, because he was his brother. But he was going to strangle Pairo with his bare hands and throw him into the bay. They’d never find the body.

_“‘_ _Hêja’_ is an affectionate term of endearment,” Kurapika translated. “Like ‘honey.’” _Or sunshine_. “It’s less overtly romantic than _delal,_ ‘dear’ or ‘darling,’ or _evîna min_ , ‘my love.’”

Kurapika may not have vocalized the parallel, but from the way Leorio went pink up to his ears, he made the connection, too. He looked away. “Ah. I see.”

“We were coming to ask if you wanted to play darts, Leorio!” Altair piped up, trying to fill the tense silence. “Join us?”

Leorio glanced at Kurapika before he answered. “Sure. I think we were waiting on some food, but then yeah, I’ll come over. In a few?”

“Sure!” Pairo had no problem shoving Kurapika over a cliff and then leaving him to handle the wreckage, it seemed. He beamed at Kurapika and dragged Altair back to the corner they’d claimed for themselves, instantly meshing again with Gon, Killua, Altair’s cousins, and a few dockhands looking for some new friendly competition.

Kurapika knew Pairo loved him. He knew Pairo thought he needed a push when it came to things like these. And he was absolutely right. But as the silence between him and Leorio stretched longer and longer, each man looking into his own glass or watching the hockey game, Kurapika found himself wishing Pairo’s style was more of a gentle nudge as opposed to shoving him into the deep end and demanding him to swim.

“I’m sorry,” Kurapika blurted suddenly. Leorio blinked, looking visibly startled and taken aback as he stared down at him. “For the, um, _hêja_ thing. If that bothers you or makes you uncomfortable.”

“Where’s all this coming from?” Leorio asked. “I don’t mind at all. I mean, unless you don’t like the ‘sunshine’ thing? I’ll stop –”

“No!” Kurapika interrupted, a shade too loudly, holding up his hands. Moderating his volume and dropping his hands into fists on his lap, he went on, “That is. I do not mind. I…” _come on, come on, come on, communicate, comeoncomeoncomeon –_ “... I rather like it.”

_Nailed it._

“Oh.” Leorio’s cheeks were a ruddy pink. “Okay. Um. So do I. _Hêja,_ I mean. You can use that. If you want. Or not. It’s up to you! But I like it, too.”

He met Kurapika’s eye. For the millionth time, Kurapika wondered how it was possible for one person to be _so goddamn beautiful,_ inside and out, shimmering green-gold eyes and effortless smile and gentle, giving soul. Kurapika smiled faintly up at him, positive he looked as dopeishly love-sick as he felt in that moment. He was more drunk on a few pretty, fumbling words from Leorio than he was from three shots and a beer. He was so wrapped around this man’s little finger it wasn’t even funny anymore. It might be pathetic, and maybe it was – but in this moment, dazed and wistful, Kurapika could pretend Leorio was looking back at him the same way.

“Good,” Kurapika breathed. Leorio’s smile widened incrementally, spreading like the glow of the rising sun over a distant horizon.

“Good,” He agreed, his voice only a murmur.

Kurapika wanted to kiss him. Not in the hungry, possessive way he’d daydreamed about earlier (for _weeks_ now), like he was trying to crawl into Leorio’s skin and live there like a tattoo. He wanted to kiss Leorio gently, soft and sweet, cradling him close like he was something fragile and delicate that might break with a wayward touch. Not that Leorio was weak or helpless by any definition. But he deserved the tenderness of soothing touches, to get lost in the slow give-and-take of being kissed for all he was worth, until he was dizzy and dazed and breathless from it.

_Let me hold you,_ Kurapika wanted to say. _Let me touch you. Let me show you just what you mean to me. Please, let me._

“Am I interrupting something?”

Kurapika started slightly, which was a moderate reaction compared to Leorio’s. He jumped so badly his beer sloshed over the glass’s rim and splattered onto the table and his jean legs. But he barely noticed, staring at the man who spoke from just over Kurapika’s shoulder. _“Pops?”_

Oh. Oh, _shit_. Kurapika whipped his head around so quickly he felt something crack. He found himself looking at a handsome older man with Leorio’s thick, dark hair and strong features. His eyes were a warm brown, and his sideburns and well-tended, short beard were streaked with silver. His salt-and-pepper hair was combed back.

Kurapika’s first thought was, if Leorio looked like _that_ in thirty years, he would not complain. His second was utter mortification that Mr. Paladiknight’s first impression of him was catching him tipsily undressing his eldest child with his eyes in the middle of a bar.

“Uh – hey, pops!” Leorio was rambling. “Good to see you! What are you doing here? Not that I’m disappointed, I mean – I just – you, uh, well – hey!”

Well, at least Leorio _also_ looked like he wanted to melt into the floor, never to be seen again. 

Mr. Paladiknight inclined his head generously. “Giovanni Senior told me that my son was here hosting a party for his show. Not to mention the Specialists are on.” He nodded to the TV, where the hockey match was still going. If it were at all possible, the bar patrons were even _louder_ now that the actual Yorknew team was playing. Mr. Paladiknight inclined his head at his son, casting a knowing glance in Kurapika’s direction. He prompted, “Well, son? Are you going to introduce me?”

The floor opening up would not be merciful enough. Kurapika needed a lightning bolt to smite him at this literal exact moment to spare him from finding his words. Leorio stammered, “Uh, sure, yeah, of course. Pops – this is Kurapika. From work. Kurapika, this is my dad.”

“Please, call me Lorenzo,” the older version of Leorio assured Kurapika, holding out a hand. Kurapika shook his hand firmly.

“A pleasure, sir.”

Lorenzo grinned. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to finally meet. Marcie – Leo’s mother – and I have been trying to get him to bring you to dinner for months.”

_“Pops,”_ Leorio groaned, half in warning and half in agony. Lorenzo glanced between them, amused.

“Ah, still…? I see. I’ve overstepped.” Lorenzo nodded to Pietro as the man appeared suddenly with a whiskey on the rocks. “But while I’m here, I’ll embarrass my eldest more. Has he invited you to our winter block party yet?”

Kurapika’s eyes did not fall out of his head and roll across the floor, but it was a near thing. Leorio was red enough to rival Pairo’s scarlet wedding suit. Kurapika managed to eke out, “He has mentioned it to me before. But. No?”

Lorenzo sent Leorio an unreadable look. Turning back to Kurapika, he smiled faintly and said, “Well. Our neighborhood’s annual winter party is next weekend. If you can make it, we’d love to have you.” Someone down the bar called out a greeting, and Lorenzo waved to them. He carried on with an enigmatic smile. “You two kids have a nice night. Kurapika, again, it is _excellent_ to meet you.”

Lorenzo left, a sedate, calm hurricane. He clapped the shoulder of another older man at the other end of the bar. The man said something and Lorenzo laughed aloud. As one, Kurapika and Leorio looked down into their drinks and drank deeply.

“Um,” Leorio spoke up. He jerked his head in his father’s direction. “I’m sorry about that. You don’t have to come to the block party if you don’t want to. I can tell him you were busy with plans for your brothers. It’s the Saturday before the wedding.”

“Oh.” Kurapika’s stomach was somewhere around his ankles. “I see.”

“I mean,” Leorio amended, “I just. I know you’re busy, and I don’t want you to feel pressured, but. I mean. If you want… If you’re free… There would be a lot of people, like this bar but times like, ten, or maybe fifteen, and my _entire_ _family_ would be there, and if you think _I’m_ a handful, well, you’re in for something else, they’re all annoying, meddling monsters, but if you –”

“Leorio,” Kurapika interrupted. Leorio’s mouth snapped shut like a mouse trap. He felt his small, hopeful smile escaping even as he tried to hide it. “Are you trying to invite me to your family holiday party?”

Leorio blew out a puff of air. “It’s going that well? Yes.”

Internally, Kurapika was _screaming_. Both in excitement and soul-curdling terror, because he almost lost his head meeting Leorio’s _father_ , and he was pretty sure he might melt or malfunction when confronted with the rest of Leorio’s family. Externally, he nodded once. “Then yes. I would be honored.”

“Really?” Leorio looked like Christmas came early this year. His smile was relieved and genuine.

“Really,” Kurapika said as their food finally arrived. He thanked Zep and nodded to the back corner, where everyone was clumped together talking. He held out a hand. “Shall we?”

Leorio grinned down at him, and it was the brightest thing in this bar. He accepted Kurapika’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. “We shall.”

~

“You owe me _big_ time,” Pairo announced. Kurapika did not throw a handful of ground meat at him, but only because that would have been a waste of food. And they were on a bit of a time crunch.

Still, he scowled as he said, “I know. You’ve mentioned.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Altair said. He glanced between Kurapika and Pairo, smiling cherubically in a way completely incongruent with how his eyes _shrieked_ with laughter. “You’re meeting your partner’s family for the first time! You want to impress them! Kurapika, I am _happy_ to make you look good for your new beau’s family.”

“He is _not_ my beau,” Kurapika insisted.

“You want him to be,” Pairo reminded him. Kurapika shrugged, conceding the point.

“That’s true enough.”

“You’re dating in all but name,” Altair observed. Kurapika blushed and said nothing. He took another handful of the _kofte_ mix and started rolling it into a sphere.

“Then we’re not dating at all.”

“So _dramatic,”_ Pairo simpered. This time, Kurapika did throw a handful of raw meat at his brother. It hit his apron over his chest with a gross wet plopping sound. Pairo screeched.

“You little _fuck!”_

“Hey!” Altair barked at them both. He put his hands on his hips, his blue eyes flashing dangerously like chips of ice. “Enough. Stop fighting.”

Kurapika blinked. So did Pairo. They stared at each other, and then Altair.

“We’re not fighting,” Kurapika said.

“This is pretty tame,” Pairo agreed. He smirked at Kurapika. “This is my way of saying ‘congratulations on getting the fuck over yourself and out of your head and making a damn move.’”

“Fuck off,” Kurapika replied. He sent Altair a smirk and translated, “‘Thanks, love you, too.’”

Altair, the only child, threw his hands into the air and announced that he gave up. He walked over to the stove and lifted the pot off the sauce. Instantly the air smelled of garlic, onion, and tomato. “The sauce is in good shape. We’ll brown the meatballs in the sauce and let them simmer. Go shower and get dressed. You smell like raw meat.”

“Thank you, I owe you,” Kurapika said, tugging his apron off his head and already running for the stairs. Pairo was already waving off his thanks as he went to the stove, pausing briefly to snag his arm around Altair’s waist and press a kiss to the apple of his cheek.

It had been a week since Leorio invited Kurapika to his family’s holiday party. A week of anxiety and overthinking all of his options – should he bring food? What kind of food? Should he even be trusted to cook? Was he supposed to bring a gift? For whom? – so he got something for Leorio and for his parents, and Pairo laughed at him for his panicked phone calls and Altair soothed him. Now, on the day of the party, Kurapika dove into the shower and tamed his hair into a semblance of order, grateful for his recent haircut. He spent far too long standing in front of the mirror and overthinking his outfit: dark jeans, gray turtleneck, blue jacket. His brothers shouting at him to _come downstairs, stop panicking over the same three shirts, he was going to be late,_ made him tear away from the mirror and half-jog down the stairs.

“You look like a librarian,” Pairo observed. Kurapika shot him a dirty look.

“In a sexy way?”

“Sure,” Altair said agreeably. For his part, Pairo looked up at the sky and prayed for patience, gently placing the disposable tin tray in his hands.

“Take a breath,” Pairo reminded him. “It’ll be okay.”

_Breathe. And trust it will be okay._

Kurapika took a slow breath. He nodded once. “Okay. I will.”

“And please,” Altair begged in the elevator down to the parking garage under the building. _“_ _Please._ Plant one on him. At least ask him out.”

Kurapika frowned. “I. I want to.”

Pairo snorted. “Yeah, we know. I promise everyone knows. We all saw you last week at the party.”

“Shut up,” Kurapika said absently. “But I need to make some decisions first.”

“You _still_ haven’t decided on that contract shit?” Pairo demanded, scandalized. He whirled around to stare at Kurapika, walking backwards. “You’re really cutting it close on this one, you know?”

“I do,” Kurapika shot back tersely. Distantly, he heard Knov’s voice echoing in the back of his head: _You deserve better. And, frankly, so does he._

He unlocked his car and set the _kofte_ on the floor of his backseat with a sigh. “Thank you both, again. This was immeasurably helpful.”

“Of course,” Altair said. He reached over, neatly pushing Kurapika’s blond hair into place and plucking stray bits of cat hair from his sweater. Then, with another angelic smile, he unceremoniously opened the driver’s side door and shoved a yelping Kurapika inside, almost cracking his head on the roof and completely changing his Saturday plans. Kurapika reflexively yanked his legs in after himself, which was good, because Altair would have slammed the door shut on his shins otherwise.

“Toodles!” Altair cried, catching a cackling Pairo’s elbow and dragging him to their car. Kurapika groaned aloud, pressing his forehead into the steering wheel. Then, because it was chilly in his car and he did not want the food getting cold, he started the ignition and headed to Leorio’s apartment.

Another bizarre twist of fate Kurapika mused upon as he drove: Yorknew was a city of ten million people. Ten million souls all living on top of each other in a city sprawling over nearly three hundred square miles. And the man that wormed his way into Kurapika’s heart and made a home there lived ten minutes away from him. How many times had they passed each other before this, ships in the night? Holding the door for each other leaving the bookstore. Stepping onto the same subway line three cars apart. An aisle away in the grocery store. Two people between them in the coffee shop line. Circling each other for years, the invisible string on their pinkies getting shorter and shorter until they finally met at exactly the right (or wrong?) time.

_Since when are you a romantic?_ Kurapika asked himself when he pulled to a stop in front of Leorio’s building and texted him that he’d arrived. _Pining and swooning and reminiscing?_

Leorio stepped out of the building, arms laden with gifts for his family, dressed in a forest green button-up with a charcoal gray tie, jeans, and pea coat, and Kurapika actually muttered “oh, _no,”_ out loud. Kurapika popped the trunk with a long-suffering sigh. When Leorio finally climbed into the passenger seat, his cologne hitting Kurapika’s nose and almost killing him instantly, he asked, “Did you bring gifts for the entire neighborhood?”

Leorio sent him a look. _“Five siblings,_ sunshine. And I’ve got something for my parents, and for Pete, and of course the nugget, so forgive me if I – what’s that smell?”

Kurapika felt his ears go pink. “Um.”

Leorio twisted around in the seat, his gaze falling on the tin tray and flowers. His eyes widened. Quietly he muttered, like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud, “What the fuck?”

Kurapika frowned up at him, his nose scrunching up and cheeks flushing in embarrassment. He wasn’t a natural chef, and Pairo did most of the work anyway, but he did not think it smelled _that_ suspect. “Well, I could hardly show up to a party _empty-handed._ And I remembered you said that part of this party was everyone getting together to make food, and Kurta culture also has its own take on the meatball, so I thought I would bring some. And a vegetarian option.” He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “Have I overstepped?”

Leorio tore his gaze away from the red-and-white holiday bouquet. Kurapika was not sure _what_ word to use to describe the soft, amazed expression on his face, but he was positive it could not be legal.

“No,” Leorio assured him. “They’ll love it.”

Kurapika smiled faintly. It was amazing, how four words from Leorio took his anxieties and soothed them down to something manageable. It was amazing just sitting here in his car with Leorio, food and holiday gifts in the backseat. It was adorable and _domestic_ and for the first time in his life, the word did not make Kurapika want to run as far as his legs would take him.

“Then let’s go,” he said, and he shifted the car gears.

Leorio’s family home was in the dockside district, within walking distance to Pietro’s bar. They had to park on a side street, because even from a distance Kurapika could hear music and children yelling. The street was cut off from traffic with construction road blocks wrapped up in rainbow lights. The sky was starting to go light blue and cotton-candy pink as the sun set, though dim purple twilight was already settling in across the bay. The street was lined with somewhat shabby but well-loved townhouses and apartments, all squished together with little room for anything green. Rickety fire escapes and balconies outlined the apartments and steep, cracked stone steps sat in front of every town house. Colored lights were _everywhere_ , wrapped around railings, sitting in windows, twining around lamp posts, hovering over the street between buildings. Little kids throwing snowballs and building snowmen waved to Leorio as they passed, as did the old men smoking cigars on their front steps.

Eventually Leorio stopped in front of a nondescript brownstone. More colored lights and garlands curled around the slightly rusty iron railings. A cheerful wreath of pine and poinsettias dangled above the front door. He looked down at Kurapika, and for a moment he looked exactly as nervous as Kurapika felt. “You ready, sunshine?”

And Kurapika even surprised himself with the steadiness in his voice when he replied, “Yes.”

The Paladiknight residence was a welcome warm, cinnamon-scented balm after the cold outside. The paint and furnishings were older, but well-tended and well-loved. The place was full to the brim with people, talking, laughing, arguing, sharing stories. They greeted Leorio with the enthusiasm of a hometown hero and sent Kurapika friendly, if bemused, smiles.

“Whole damn neighborhood in here,” Leorio muttered, setting his gifts down under a tree sparkling with shiny bulbs and homemade ornaments at least twenty years old. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you.”

Without thinking, he caught Kurapika’s elbow and gently tugged him through the crowd and back into the kitchen. A massive dining table groaned under the weight of three dozen dishes and desserts. Grandmothers and aunts stood around the table chit-chatting as little kids reached for cupcakes and cannoli with sticky fingers.

“Ma!” Leorio called as he walked into the room. Only his warm fingers curled over Kurapika’s bicep kept him calm when a squat, kindly woman with Leorio’s eyes and smile turned to his voice. She was not as short as Melody, but she was certainly shorter than Kurapika. She wore a red dress and her dark hair was tucked back into an elegant knot in the back of her head.

_“Passerotto,”_ She greeted, opening her arms to her son for a hug. She grasped Leorio’s face and pressed her lips hard against both of his cheeks with loud smacking sounds. Leorio had to bend at an adorable angle just to accommodate himself for her, turning his head to press a kiss to her cheek as well before drawing back. He placed his hand lightly between Kurapika’s shoulder blades, once, in a bracing gesture.

“Ma,” he said, “This is Kurapika. From work.”

Kurapika inclined his head, the most he could do with his hands full of food and flowers. “A pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Thank you so much for having me.”

“Call me Marcela, please,” Leorio’s mother said. She took a step forward, beaming at him. “And what is this?”

“Leorio told me of your tradition of sharing food every year. They are _kofte_ , Kurta meatballs. I have a list of ingredients and allergens in my pocket. And the flowers are for you, of course.” With some finagling, he managed to hand Marcela the bouquet.

Marcela’s smile, if possible, grew broader. “Well, aren’t you everything my son described. Polite, considerate.” She winked, lowering her voice. “Beautiful.”

Kurapika’s face went bright pink, but before he could reply – and before Leorio could make a sound or simply implode, his face going scarlet – Marcela added, “Come along, come along, _passerotto,_ help him with his coat, set down the food, come on, now, I taught you to be a gentleman –”

_“Ma.”_ Leorio’s voice was an entreaty, complaint, and whine all in one. “We just got here, I – yes, ma.”

He obediently ducked his head and held out his arm for Kurapika’s jacket. He swallowed a laugh as he handed Leorio his jacket. Leorio sent him a look that _dared_ him to laugh at him for this. He looked so adorably flustered, like a teen bringing home his first date, that Kurapika could only giggle, trying and failing to stifle the sound behind his hand. He was rewarded with another wordless glare.

“D’you want a drink, too, sunshine?”

“Red wine if you have it, please and thank you.”

Kurapika was clearly enjoying this too much. Nevertheless, Leorio sighed. “I walked into that one. I’ll be back.”

He sent his mother a look that entreated, _please don’t embarrass me_. Marcela smiled back in a way that promised she was taking Kurapika directly to the baby pictures. Kurapika was not sure who he wanted to win, but the result was a bygone conclusion when Leorio stepped away to hang their things.

Marcela turned her attention back to him. Her smile lost a great deal of its mischief when she said, “It’s been some time since Leorio has brought someone home to meet me.” She eyed him curiously. “You must be special.”

Kurapika blushed, ducking his head. “You’re very kind. I’ll leave you to make your own conclusions, however.”

Marcela laughed. “So formal, sweetie. I’m not trying to trap you.” She led him through the house, smiling to different people and introducing him as Leo’s guest to those who asked, until she sat in a loveseat near a cozy fireplace and tapped the space beside her. She was indeed the lady of the house, people parting in her wake and stepping aside to let her pass. Slowly, Kurapika sat beside her. It was odd to see Leorio’s hazel eyes set in another face. “I simply want to get to know you.”

Kurapika laced his fingers together in his lap. “Gladly. What would you like to know?”

Marcela’s smile widened. “Well, for starters. Tell me what it’s like to work with my boy.”

Smart move; it had become one of his favorite subjects over the past several months. Kurapika was delighted to tell Marcela about the beautiful things Leorio created. He showed Marcela photos from the carnival Leorio built with his bare hands, the driftwood arch bedecked with seashells, the stunning leaf-strewn archway in a dreamy forest clearing, the ethereally beautiful, shimmering glass lotus sculpture. Marcela had an exquisite eye for detail, and they discussed picture composition and color theory for some time. He told her all about Leorio’s incredible way with people of all ages and genders: fussy little kids who refused to wear their ties and fussier old ladies who just wanted to share their cutting, hysterical, often inappropriate stories with a patient ear; tearful mothers and cousins, bickering wedding parties, over-eager, weeping grooms. He was so _good_ with people, Kurapika confessed; Leorio could find common ground with people of all walks of life, doctors, vets, lawyers, nurses, scientists, waiters, baristas – he was so comfortable with people it made him supremely jealous, and so grateful, because he was much better at the emotional aspect of the job where Kurapika was more comfortable handling the planning and logistics.

“Oh, I’m not sure if that’s true,” Marcela replied to that last statement. She flickered her gaze over Kurapika’s shoulder, a knowing smile on her lips. Kurapika twisted around in his seat to find Leorio standing there, two glasses of wine in his hands. He wordlessly held one out.

_How much did you hear,_ Kurapika wanted to ask, but from the way Leorio was looking at him, surprised and soft… he supposed he knew the answer.

“Thank you,” Kurapika murmured. He accepted the glass and held it gently in both hands, grateful to have something to keep them busy. Leorio glanced between him and his mother.

“I see you two are getting on like a housefire.”

“Indeed,” Kurapika said, sensing Marcela’s keen gaze on him. “Your mother has been telling me all about your childhood exploits.”

“Oh, ha-ha,” Leorio said sarcastically. He considered for another moment. “Wait. For real?”

“I swore I wouldn’t tell,” Kurapika replied very seriously, holding a finger to his lips. Marcela laughed aloud in the same completely unselfconscious way Leorio did.

“What? Sunshine, c’mon, did she – ma, come on, he’s kidding, right? Ma? _Ma.”_

Kurapika’s poker face finally cracked and he laughed, full and from his stomach. Leorio kept demanding to know what Marcela told him until a neighbor snagged him around his neck in a cheerful, exultant greeting loud enough to rattle the windows.

“I see now,” Marcela murmured. Kurapika twisted around to meet her eyes. There was a small, knowing smile on her lips.

“Oh?” Kurapika prompted.

“Why he calls you sunshine,” Marcela told him. She nodded in Leorio’s direction and sent Kurapika an enigmatic smile. “I’ve only been talking to you for fifteen minutes, Kurapika, but with everything that Leo has told me about you… I believe you could stand to be kinder to yourself. You may not have my son’s… _exuberant_ nature, true. But you have your own innate warmth. And when Leo talks to you, he _glows.”_ She peered up at Leorio, who was still trying and failing to extricate himself from his neighbor's grasp. “It’s been a long time since someone has made my _passerotto_ happy like this.” Marcela reached forward to gently lay soft, cool fingers over the back of his wrist. “So. Thank you for that. For letting an old woman see her son smile like a child again.”

Kurapika swallowed thickly. Weakly, he started, “You’re not _old –”_

“A young man after my own heart. Don’t tell Lorenzo.”

“–And I’m flattered, but I – I’m not sure what Leorio has said exactly about the nature of our relationship – er, partnership – er, _friendship_. Not that I…” Kurapika sighed when Marcela laughed in his face. Meddler, indeed. “Oh, this is coming out all wrong.”

“It’s alright,” Marcela laughed. “This house, and this neighborhood, has seen everything. I understood without either of you needing to find the words.”

“Mm,” Kurapika hummed, sipping his wine. Time to change the subject. “What does _passerotto_ mean?”

Marcela smiled, sipping her wine. “‘Little sparrow.’ My son has always yearned to fly.”

_He does, with me,_ Kurapika thought. He traced his fingertip over the rim of the glass. He confessed, “I call him _hêja._ In my first language it means… well, it’s similar to _honey.”_

Marcela let out a low whistle. “Oh, Kurapika. This is better than my shows. Thank you for feeding the gossip mill for weeks. This is going to make book club so much more interesting. Between you and me, Aida makes the _worst_ book decisions.”

Kurapika laughed out loud. “What’s this week?”

“Some Ayn Rand bullshit. Hell if I’ll read it.”

Kurapika was still laughing when Leorio rejoined them.

“Aida’s book club rec again?” Leorio had finally freed himself from the third neighbor in a row who accosted him in the middle of his own living room. Which made sense, considering Leorio was tall enough to touch the ceiling if he put his arm up. Kurapika shook his head and stood.

“Here, take my spot so you can have a conversation. _Don’t_ say anything about me being short,” Kurapika warned as he and Leorio traded places. 

“Why bother? You already did,” Leorio reminded him, and Kurapika did not stick his tongue out at him in front of his mother but it was a near thing.

“Are you hungry?” He asked. “I’m going to get a plate to share.”

“Yeah,” Leorio said, nodding. He grinned up at him. “That’d be cool.”

“Cool,” Kurapika agreed, strangely delighted. “I’m getting two of every meatball, and we’ll compare.”

“Oh, _sunshine,”_ Leorio cried, and Kurapika shook his head fondly as he made his way to the kitchen. Folks sent him nods and smiles, much friendlier than before – not that they were _unfriendly_ before, of course, but after seeing him and Leorio come in, and him sitting with Marcela, they understood now how he connected to this space and this family. The din of the party blurred into white noise around him as he eyed the table, planning the best way to get all this food onto one plate, when he heard –

“Holy shit –”

“Is that –?”

“It _is –”_

“Azel –”

“Serena –”

“Altea –”

“Oh, this is stupid.” A hand suddenly caught Kurapika’s sweater sleeve and tugged. Kurapika went with a yelp, and the rest of the voices shouted together, _“Dammit, Emilio.”_

And suddenly Kurapika was surrounded. His heart leapt into his throat as he counted one, two, three, four people, all with the same olive-toned skin, the same dark hair, the same strong features and pointed nose and oh, _shit,_ Kurapika was going to pass out because four of Leorio’s five siblings had just cornered him in their kitchen.

The one who grasped Kurapika’s sleeve dropped him to fold his arms over his chest. He was taller than Kurapika but shorter than Leorio, weedy, with fading acne scars and thick black glasses. “You’re Kurapika?”

“Yes,” Kurapika said. “Though it sounded like you knew that, from the shouting.”

“I told you you were too loud, idiot,” one of the women said, slapping the man standing next to her. “You’re as subtle as a finger up the ass.”

Kurapika managed to turn his snort into a cough by some magic he had yet to match in his designs. “Serena and Emilio, I take it?”

Serena looked up. “Yeah. You could guess?”

“I’ve heard about you all,” Kurapika said. “All good things, of course.”

“Liar,” The second boy said. He was about as tall as Leorio but he had the approximate dimensions of the lampposts outside. Kurapika guessed he was Azelio. Still, he nodded to him. “But the lie is appreciated.”

Kurapika shrugged. “I have a brother. I know that insults are the real measure of affection.”

“O- _ho,_ he’s funny,” Altea chirped up. She tilted her head, eyeing Kurapika head to toe. “And cute.”

Kurapika felt himself going red. “Um –”  


“What are your intentions with our brother?” Emilio asked. He tilted his head to one side. “Leo’s talked about you for- _ever._ But you’ve never come by.”

“Probably because he knew you’d all act like this,” said a fifth voice. Kurapika’s heart sank into his stomach at the addition of yet _another_ person into his Paladiknight Sibling Interrogation. He turned to see a third woman, about his age, wearing a heavy warm sweater dress and holding a snuggly bundle in her arms, wrapped in a very familiar-looking blanket. Carmelita Rizzo nee Paladiknight met Kurapika’s gaze and rolled her own eyes. “Ignore them, Kurapika. The peanut gallery just wants to intimidate you. It’s their hazing ritual. They do it with everyone’s new partners.”

Between the audience and the way Emilio was glaring holes into the side of his head, Kurapika decided this was not the time to tell the Paladiknight children that he was _not actually dating their brother._ Kurapika cleared his throat and stood up a bit straighter. It felt like his decade in the fashion business prepared him for exactly this moment, standing upright and keeping his cool in a circle of people who may or may not want to destroy him.

“Leorio is my best friend and my professional colleague. I only want to see him happy,” Kurapika confessed. He glanced around at the siblings. “That is all I want for him. Truly. I think we are on the same page with that, at least.”

Emilio let out a soft _harrumph._ The others’ expressions softened.

“Well, good,” Azelio said. He reached out a hand to shake. “Then everything else is details.”

Kurapika smiled up at him, relieved. “I’m glad you think so.”

“I dunno if I’m all that worried about Leo being _happy,”_ Serena huffed. “The things that asshole has done. Did he ever tell you about our prank wars?”

“The snake one?” Kurapika asked. “Yes, the first day we met, funnily enough.”

“The _snake?”_ Altea scoffed. “He’s still on about the snake, like he thinks that’s anything to sneeze at? No, let me tell you about this asshole, see if you don’t run for the hills –”

The conversation shifted rapidly from there, the siblings rapidly changing track from low-key hazing Kurapika to bringing him up to speed with every stupid prank and hare-brained scheme Leorio ever pulled growing up. Kurapika noticed Leorio never came across as a bad person or a jerk in his stories; no, if anything, he was a model big brother, according to his five siblings. He fought with neighborhood bullies and did odd jobs for free for the old grandmother who lived down the street, hid a cardboard cutout of Danny Devito in Serena’s closet growing up and helped Carmelita study all night for her GRE to get into grad school. He made homemade ravioli with Altea when her first boyfriend cheated on her and let her cry into his shoulder (and later on egged the jerk’s house, but no one could _prove_ it was him) and he went to all of Emilio’s pop-up coffee shop shows.

If their goal was to make Kurapika fall more hopelessly in love with their brother, then they accomplished it. And they listened as Kurapika told them all about how Leorio took in the Zoldyck siblings, how he was kind and supportive and sweet and _perfect._ Eventually, however, Leorio realized he’d been gone for quite a while and came looking for him.

“Just what is going on here?” Leorio asked, catching Emilio around the neck and ruffling his hair. “Kurapika, are these hooligans bothering you? These troublemakers? These miscreants?” 

“You don’t even know what that _means,”_ Azelio muttered. Leorio’s second arm came around him, too, for that one.

“What’s that?”

Serena sent Kurapika a _look._ “They’ll be like this for a while. Want to eat?”

“Definitely,” Kurapika agreed, and he finished getting his plate together. They also put one together for Carmelita, who had retired to a renovated room upstairs to give Beatriz someplace quieter to rest.

The rest of the party went by in a rush. Leorio finally tracked them down, brothers in tow with food and a stolen plate of cannoli. They ate together, laughing and teasing and sharing stories. After their initial reservations, Leorio’s siblings were sharply friendly, including him in their stories and their ribbing of Leorio. They truly went out of their way to include him, and Kurapika was touched by their consideration. He wondered if this is what Altair felt like when he met Kurapika for the first time, though he quickly cut off that train of thought before he could start daydreaming.

_I like it here,_ Kurapika realized as the night wore on, as Marcela caught them hiding from the party and ordered all of them (save Kurapika, she promised sweetly) back downstairs to mingle properly, as the drinks flowed and the sky outside grew dark. Leorio stuck close to him as much as he could, aware of how shy Kurapika could be in a crowd. But for the moments he was called away, one of his siblings or his parents would always seek him out and bring him into conversation.

_I could like it here,_ Kurapika thought. _I could belong here._

They finally left just after midnight, sleepy and full of good good. Leorio’s arms were full of various gifts from his siblings and parents, and to his own surprise, there was even a matching scarf and set of gloves in a beautiful, rich shade of navy blue for him.

_Everyone goes home with a gift,_ Marcela told Kurapika firmly when the gift left him struck speechless. _Put it on, dear, I want to see how it goes with your eyes._

And now they were sitting in Kurapika’s car outside Leorio’s building. They were silent, sleepy and content to just sit together for a few more seconds. Leorio’s hand fiddled with the door latch. Kurapika wished he would just stay.

_Come home with me,_ Kurapika wanted to say. _Not even for sex. We don’t even have to kiss, I don’t care. I just don’t want you to leave._

“Thanks for this,” Leorio said finally when the silence stretched just a few minutes too long. “For coming. I know it was a lot, and my siblings are a hassle –”

“Leorio,” Kurapika interrupted. “I should be thanking you. I had a wonderful time. And I _adore_ your family.”

“Oh.” Leorio went red up his neck. He admitted, “They loved you. I’m sure I already have ten different texts asking when they can see you next.”

“Ah,” Kurapika said, trying to breathe around his relief. “I’m glad to hear it. I’d like that, I think. To spend time with them again.”

“Yeah,” Leorio said. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Cool. That’s really cool. I should…”

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Kurapika swallowed thickly.

_Be brave,_ he told himself. _Again._

“Wait,” Kurapika said. Leorio froze, his unbuckled seatbelt the only sound in the car as it clicked back into place. Kurapika drummed his fingers over the wheel. His heart was pounding so quickly against his sternum he feared it might bruise. He made himself say, enunciating slowly so the words didn’t run into each other, “I have something for you.”

“You do?” Leorio asked. He sounded winded like he’d just sprinted a mile and was then immediately struck by lightning.

Kurapika nodded weakly. “Yes, of course. It’s the holidays, after all.”

“‘Of course,’ he says,” Leorio joked weakly. Kurapika slipped his hand into the inner pocket of his coat for the velvet box. He handed it over to Leorio.

“Sunshine, it’s so soon,” Leorio chuckled, sparks lancing up Kurapika’s arm when his fingers brushed his palm. “Buy me dinner first.”

“First of all, I have already both bought _and_ made you dinner,” Kurapika sniffed, his face aflame. “Second, this is not a proposal.”

Leorio snorted softly. He opened the box and his eyes went wide. Carefully, he pulled out one of the cufflinks, their gold edges catching in the streetlamp’s light from outside the car. “Kurapika, these are amazing.”

“They’re green quartz,” Kurapika told him, as if he couldn’t see. Which, in the dark car, he might not. The polished stones winked under the street lamps in a greenish-brown glitter. “To match your suit.”

_To match your eyes._ It was the first thing Kurapika thought of when he did his holiday shopping and saw them.

“I love them,” Leorio said genuinely. He set the cufflink safely back into the box. “I have something for you, too.”

Kurapika’s head tilted. “You _do?”_

“Of course,” Leorio mocked him gently. “I just – I wasn’t sure if you got me anything, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable if I got you something but you didn’t for me. Which would have been fine. But.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a square blue box. “Here. Take this. It’s _not_ a ring.”

Kurapika scoffed out a laugh. “Naturally.”

He flipped open the box, and the laughter died in his throat. He almost dropped the box into his lap. Nestled in the middle of the box was a single earring, a silver dolphin at the end of a short, fine chain. It had a red stone set in the socket where an eye would be.

“Leorio,” Kurapika breathed. “This is…”

There was _no way_ he knew the significance of what he just did. He simply saw that Kurapika only had one ear pierced, and he thought it was a personal, stylish choice and/or a way of flagging. And it _was._ But it was also…

_Do I tell him?_ Kurapika wondered. He did not want to. He so, _so_ did not want to. Already he felt himself flushing crimson in preparation for even _having_ this conversation. But Leorio was going to see Pairo and Altair’s ceremony on Thursday, and he would certainly work it out by then. It would not be fair to Leorio to let him know the significance. Not to mention, Kurapika promised that he was going to work harder on communicating.

_It’s not a ring,_ Leorio said, completely unaware that it might as well be.

“Kurapika?” Leorio finally seemed to catch on that something was not quite right. “You okay? I’m sorry, is it too much?”

“No,” Kurapika cried. “It’s amazing, it’s _beautiful_ , I love it, I just…” He laughed. It was the only way he really knew how to react. If not, he might just start crying. He shook his head, trying to get himself under control. “So, here’s the thing. When you said it’s _not_ a ring…”

He trailed off, laughing helplessly all over again. Leorio’s mouth dropped open as he realized. “Oh, my God. Oh, my _God_. Kurapika, sunshine, _please_ tell me I did not just accidentally propose to you.”

Kurapika was laughing again in earnest now. And what a miracle _that_ was, he thought distantly – he felt like he should be panicking. Upset or anxious or angry or embarrassed somehow. But he could only laugh, because he could not blame Leorio for not knowing the nuances of a culture he was uneducated about, and because it was truly a thoughtful gift, one that took Kurapika’s own tastes into consideration. He took a deep breath, swiping at his eyes and trying to get himself back under control.

“In Kurta culture,” he started, “As you may have noticed – I believe you only know Pairo, Altair, and myself, which is not a large sample – we pierce our left ears.”

“I did.” Leorio’s voice was muffled by his hands over his face. “I thought it was a personal choice thing.”

“Not quite,” Kurapika said. “Of course, not everyone does it. But in my culture, where gender markers and presentation is more fluid, and relationships are less heteronormative, each person has their own unique earring design. Marriage proposals are done via exchanging earrings. The wedding ceremony, as you will see this week, includes the right ear being pierced and wearing the earrings. Incidentally, subsequent piercings are done for children. My adoptive parents have theirs on their cartilage, though those can technically be anywhere on the ear.”

He still remembered his parents taking him and Pairo to the tattoo and piercing shop the day Kurapika went from being their _foster son_ to simply their _son_. The day they sat down as a family and told Kurapika that they wanted him, that they loved him as their own and wanted him to stay forever. Kurapika was seven at the time. It had been two years since he lost his birth parents, and while Rohin and Niolah could never _replace_ his birth parents, he loved them just as well. He’d wanted to stay, too. So he nodded. The paperwork for the social worker was still wet when they all piled into the car to go to the shop a few minutes later. The shop’s piercer wasn’t Kurta, but when his parents explained the situation and its cultural importance, the burly tattooed man with at least eighteen (visible) piercings cried and did it for free.

“Oh, my God, I _knew_ I should have Googled before I went shopping.” Leorio still had his face buried in his hands, but now his shoulders were at least shuddering. Kurapika hoped and assumed he was laughing from embarrassment and because the situation was genuinely funny, which was fair.

“It’s alright,” Kurapika assured him, reaching over to pat him on the back. “But I wanted it to make sense when I told you I am very flattered, but I must decline your proposal. I’ll keep the earring, though.”

“You don’t have to,” Leorio assured him, finally picking his head up. His face was so red Kurapika swore he could feel its heat from his seat. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable at all, I truly had no idea.”

_“I know,”_ Kurapika assured him. “It’s alright. And I already have it. I’m keeping it. I almost did not tell you, to spare you any unnecessary embarrassment, but considering you will see the wedding this week…”

“I’d have found out anyway. No, utter _mortification_ aside, I’m glad you told me. As long as you’re not actually upset or uncomfortable.” Leorio sent him another searching look, like he was trying to determine if Kurapika was lying or if this was just an elaborate extended prank. Eventually, however, his eyes softened, and he nodded.

_Ask me again,_ Kurapika thought, completely unprompted. His fingers curled over the box in a protective cage. _Not now. Not tomorrow, not next week or next month or next year. But I hope you ask me again. I think my answer will be different then._

_Plant one on him,_ Altair had ordered. He nearly begged him. And Kurapika wanted to. Dear _God_ did he want to – it would be so easy, to lean over the seat and press his mouth to his, tongue tracing the seam of Leorio’s lips, fingers sifting through his hair. But not yet. Maybe Kurapika really was a masochist. Or a sadist, if he wanted to really flatter himself. If it were anyone else, Kurapika never would have allowed this _tension_ to climb to such a fever pitch.

But the timing wasn’t right. Not now. Not yet. Not _tonight_. He needed to make a decision.

Stay, and never speak; leave the show, and try.

And he could not decide with the weight of Leorio’s gaze on him like that. Nor with the anchor of his accidental promise in his hand.

“Goodnight, Leorio,” Kurapika said.

Leorio smiled faintly. “Goodnight, Kurapika.”

He carefully shut the Mini Coop’s door after himself, though Kurapika still heard him inevitably cursing the “goddamn clown car’s” lack of legroom. Shaking his head fondly, he watched Leorio’s back as he went to the door, making sure he made it inside safe.

And maybe to see if he looked back. And it felt like there was a small sun blazing right in his chest when Leorio _did_.

~

_Something for Everyone_ looked like it came straight out of a fairy-tale. A movie, a photoshoot, a stage, a Pinterest board. Kurapika walked into the restaurant’s main dining area, garment bags laying against his back, stomping his feet to get the snow off them. He craned his head back to take in the constellation of white lights criss-crossing the ceiling. Leorio had added even more than there were before, so now there were enough they illuminated the room all on their own without the overhead lights. Interspersed across the ceiling were dangling crystal snowflakes, glittering and refracting flecks of rainbow light over the walls and floor. The circular tables all had simple white candles set in small wreaths of pine and red and white roses sitting in tall cylinders. There was an archway set up outside over the back patio. The weather report promised snow in the evening, and the occasional flurries sometimes fluttered down to settle on the arch’s red, pink, and purple roses and greenery, but for now the clouds held off from snowing in earnest.

“What do you think?”

Kurapika looked back. Kalluto was standing in the doorway, their arms clasped loosely behind their back. The back patio, too, was strewn with string lights, and they caught in Kalluto’s coral-pink eyes as they approached. For a few minutes, they stood side-by-side under an arctic blue sky. In the distance, Kurapika heard Nanika and Alluka running their kitchens with the precise order of drill sergeants. Killua and Gon’s voices carried from their backyard, mingling with Lilla’s barking as they played with her until she tired out to sleep through the party tonight.

Kurapika finally replied, “I think you’ll be even better than me, one day.”

Kalluto was too controlled to physically act out their surprise, but Kurapika sensed their entire energy shift. Slowly, they turned to Kurapika. “Excuse me?”

Kurapika gestured with his free hand. “Your creativity, your poise, your patience. You have remarkable business acumen and logistic skills. I know you prefer to keep quiet, Kalluto. But you are the glue that holds this operation together. We – the team, the show, your family – are remarkably lucky to have you.” He nodded in Kalluto’s direction. “Thank you for everything. I don’t think I say that enough.”

“Is this a goodbye?” Kalluto asked dryly. They arched one perfectly-shaped brow. “I know the contract window closes at midnight.”

Kurapika shook his head, smiling wearily. Their reply seemed ripped from something Killua might say to avoid an uncomfortable emotional conversation, but he was not going to comment on that. He answered honestly; it was the least they deserved after the past eight months. “I’m not sure yet.”

“Tick tock, Cinderella,” Kalluto teased. They exchanged brief smiles, and Kurapika turned around to head inside. He had to drop off the wedding clothes, and get changed, and keep Pairo from losing his mind, and secretly hover over Kalluto and Leorio as they finished the _Light of My Life_ side of things.

He’d made it a few steps before Kalluto called out. “Kurapika.” He turned around, meeting Kalluto’s eyes. Their eyes were even brighter than before, and they blinked rapidly. Nevertheless, their voice was steady when they said, “Thank you. And for what it’s worth, I really hope you stay.”

“Thank you,” Kurapika said, touched. He looked around the stunning venue, at the lights and flowers and the endless countryside around them. He murmured, “So do I.”

“So what’s stopping you?” Kalluto asked.

Kurapika frowned thoughtfully. He appreciated the direct question. Kalluto was less accommodating than Altair but more tolerant than Pairo. There was no judgement, no preconceived notion about what he should do. It was just a question.

“I think…” He sighed. “It feels like a larger decision than it really is. Something all-encompassing and life-altering. Like it should be decided by something more than a signature on a sheet of paper. Like it’s bigger than just me. Like I can’t be the only one making the decision.”

“Hm.” Kalluto thought about that for a few moments. “Okay.”

“That’s it?” Kurapika asked. “‘Okay?’”

“Yeah.” Kalluto had the nerve to _shrug._ “It feels like a big decision because it is one. Because this team, this show – we’re not just a bunch of asshats that happen to work together anymore.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Anyway, it’s because we’re something of a family now. My siblings and Gon and whatever thing you and Leorio have going on. Your decision feels like it’s about more than just you because it is. To you, at least.” Kalluto smirked at him. “So. Let me make your decision a bit easier. I want you here. So do Alluka, Nanika, Killua, and Gon. So you need to talk to Leorio about how you two have wanted to jump each other's bones for months. And then you can decide.”

Kurapika was heading in that general direction, anyway, but it did still nettle him somewhat to have someone twelve years his junior tell him how to handle his existential crisis.

“Insubordinate,” Kurapika grumbled. Kalluto laughed loud enough it filled the patio. They never would have made that sound six months ago.

“Fair enough,” Kalluto agreed, beaming wide enough their teeth gleamed. “In any case. Tonight, you’re the client. So you’ve got to trust Leorio and me.”

“I do,” Kurapika promised, and he left. He dropped off Altair’s finished suit in his dressing room, saying hello to his parents and family in passing, and went off to where Pairo was waiting. His brother’s head jerked up when he entered the room, dark eyes wide and terrified and eager and looking so very young. It was only him and their parents in the room as he nudged the door shut behind him.

“There you are,” Rohin sighed. His father smiled at him as he approached, his twin silver cartilage piercings winking in the light. He was already dressed for the ceremony in a loose ceremonial tunic in a rich emerald green. The fabric was embroidered in leaves and elegant branches. He opened his arms for his elder son, and Kurapika stepped into them. “Your brother is panicking.”

“I assumed so,” Kurapika agreed. Pairo groaned.

“I am not _panicking,_ I am simply _nervous,”_ Pairo insisted. “Mom is getting tea for us.”

“Oh, poor baby boy needs some tea? For your tummy?” Kurapika pinched Pairo’s cheek as he passed, gentle enough it barely pinked the skin. Pairo swatted at him irritably.

“Don’t be a dick.”

“Sorry,” Kurapika apologized. He sent Pairo a wink. “You’ll be _fine,_ Pairo.”

“What if I puke?” Pairo whined. Kurapika stood upright. “What if I _shit myself?”_

“If you get _any_ bodily fluids on this suit, I am going to braid a whip and flog you to death with it,” Kurapika threatened him.

“Enough, boys,” Rohin finally stepped in. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Kurapika, I was hoping you would _help.”_

“Oh, is our elder boy causing trouble?” Niolah asked as she walked into the room. She was dressed in her wedding attire as well, a sapphire blue tunic-dress embroidered over with jumping fish and other aquatic creatures. She set down her tray of tea and pressed a kiss to Kurapika’s cheek. “Play nice.”

“Okay,” Kurapika agreed, sighing. Pairo stuck his tongue out at him from behind their mother’s back, because no matter how old they got, they were always going to be children inside.

“Kurapika, dear, which one is Leorio?” Niolah asked. Pairo snorted over his tea and coughed half of it back up. Charming. Kurapika could not _believe_ this shithead was getting married first. “I was looking while I was getting tea, but the lovely girl behind the counter said he was running around getting everything ready. She was so sweet, too.”

“Alluka?” Kurapika asked.

“Nanika,” his mother corrected. “But they both seem like darling girls. I heard them in the kitchen – ‘Get me that chicken! Don’t skimp on the seasoning! Chop the tomatoes smaller! Killua, get the fuck out of my way, you sugar-dusted asshat!’ Just delightful. We should have them for dinner.”

The best part was that Kurapika knew his mother was not being sarcastic at all. It was not his father who gave Kurapika his inspired, spirited, take-no-shit nature, after all. Someone could pour soup into Rohin’s lap, and _he_ would be the first to apologize. Kurapika laughed. “That sounds like them.”

“And she said Leorio was the ‘six-four brick shithouse, city-boy Superman out of your son’s dreams,’ and I _assume_ she did not mean Pairo, unless this wedding is about to be very interesting –”

Rohin laughed; Pairo choked again on his tea; and Kurapika closed his eyes and counted to ten.

“Leorio is busy right now, yes. He is currently doing my usual job of pulling the wedding together. Pairo, shall we get you into this suit?”

“I’d rather keep making fun of you,” Pairo told him. “Mom, did Nanika say anything else in this impromptu gossip session?”

“Well, she is just about _sick_ of her brother’s shenanigans with that boyfriend of his! Can you believe that poor boy lives way up in the city, an hour away, and Killua still hasn’t asked him to move in? Unbelievable!” As if struck with inspiration, Niolah turned to Kurapika. He reflexively took a step back. “And why haven’t _you_ asked Leorio to move in with you?”

This was hell. Kurapika was _actually in hell._ “Because we’re not dating?”

Niolah scoffed. Rohin snorted. Pairo laughed in his face.

Irritably, Kurapika snatched up the garment bag and threw it at Pairo. “Just put on the damn suit.”

“Language, Kurapika.”

“Yeah, language,” Pairo snickered. “Be a good influence on your baby brother.”

There were a lot of things Kurapika wanted to reply to that, but none he could say in front of his family. So he just sighed, let his mother pour him some tea, and helped Pairo get dressed.

The suit Kurapika made for him was currently tied for his _magnum opus_ (the other being the suit Kurapika made for _himself)._ Rich wine red fabric made up his suit, contrasting beautifully with the pristine white starched shirt. His Kurta-inspired cape draped regally over his shoulders and swooped just over his ankles. The gold embroidery already shone in the light, the sheer cape material floating behind him like gossamer.

“You’ve improved,” Pairo observed to Kurapika as he twisted this way and that in front of the mirror. “You were always amazing, the best of the best, Kurapika, but this… this is _amazing.”_

Kurapika smiled weakly. “Thank you.” _  
_

The critics thought Kurapika’s work lacked passion, heart, soul? Love? Devotion? They would eat their hearts out if they saw the art he produced now. The beautiful things his mind and heart and hands created when he created for other people. For _their_ happiness, for _their_ beauty and celebrations.

“We should prepare for the ceremony,” Rohin said, checking his watch. “Kurapika, you should get changed.”

Kurapika nodded as he made some final adjustments to Pairo’s cape and hair. Pairo carefully pushed him back, giving him a look.  


“Time to get dressed, brother mine. Try not to upstage me, yeah?”

Kurapika elbowed him in the side. “Shut up.”  


Pairo grinned at him, eager for the rest of his life to get started, and he led their parents out of the room to give Kurapika time to breathe.

Now that he had the time to think and breathe, Kurapika used the privacy of the empty room to finally change. He felt both nervous and oddly excited to wear something he made for himself, when before he always put his clothes on other models. He wondered if this was how Killua felt when he made cake for himself or his siblings.

The slim-cut suit fit like a dream, accentuating the lean, lithe lines of his body. Midnight blue wool with a matching tie, a white button-up. A high-collared cape that brushed the underside of his chin when he turned his head, the fabric falling to his hips. Gold threads shimmered in the light as he moved, the careful, flowing swoops already catching on the overhead lights in the room. They would glow ethereally under the warmth of the string lights, which was exactly what Kurapika planned for when he made these.

Finally, tying the entire thing together, Kurapika slipped the dolphin earring Leorio gifted him into his ear. The steel was cold against his skin. The tiny red gemstone sparkled whenever he moved. He rather hoped his parents would not comment on the earring if they saw it; the last thing he needed was his mother seeing the damn thing and having a coronary.

There was a knock on the door as Kurapika was straightening everything out. “Come in.”

The door opened. “Okay, sunshine, I know you’re going to be worrying about this so I wanted to give you the rundown – everything is set up, the officiant is prepared, the piercer is here, which I never thought I would say about a wedding but here we are, thanks for telling me that was coming, and Kalluto is keeping Killua and Gon here and focused, at least until the cake is cut, but that mulled wine they made is no joke, so prepare for people to be _lit_ , and – and…”

He trailed off. Kurapika finished settling the earring into place and saw in the mirror the way Leorio stood gobsmacked in the middle of the room, like he’d been walking towards him until he was distracted. Kurapika watched his eyes travel from his shined shoes, up his legs, to his cape, over his chest, finally meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“Oh, _wow,”_ Leorio breathed, awed, appreciative.

Kurapika did not shove Leorio’s back against the door and kiss him right there and then, but he _did_ consider it. He lightly traced a finger over the gold-embroidered edge of his cape. “I take it you do _not_ think I look a fool?”

Leorio huffed out a short breath through his nose. “No. Not that.” He took another step closer. He was wearing the suit Kurapika made him, and he looked so _mind-numbingly_ handsome Kurapika had no idea how he was going to get through this night.

(There were six hours until midnight. Six hours to make a decision. To…)

Leorio reached up to run a hand through his hair. He looked so stunned by Kurapika he almost seemed lost. Greenish-gold stone glinted in the light. Kurapika’s breath caught in his throat.

“You’re wearing the cufflinks.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Leorio agreed, looking at his sleeves as if he had somehow forgotten. He peered up at Kurapika again through his lashes. “And you’re wearing the earring.”

“I am,” Kurapika agreed helplessly. He fiddled with his suit, wishing he had something to do with his hands. He gestured to the door. “I should go. Prepare for the ceremony. I just – thank you for all of this. For everything. You all did a beautiful job getting everything ready. It’s _incredible._ By far our best work yet.”

“There is nothing here tonight as beautiful as you are.”

A pin could have dropped three rooms over and Kurapika would have heard it. He did not move. He did not blink. He did not even _breathe_. He only gaped at Leorio like a fish out of water, utterly shocked and wondering if he’d finally cracked and was just hearing Leorio say whatever it was he most wanted to hear. Leorio only stared resolutely at him, his face red but his jaw set and his eyes sure.

“I. Oh. Thank you.” Kurapika’s voice felt breathy and weak. He swallowed and despite his tea, his throat was dry. “I – we – Leorio, after this wedding, we need to –”

“Talk?” Leorio supplied. There was something so painful and hopeful in his voice it made Kurapika want to scream. Instead, he only nodded jerkily.

“Yes. We need to talk.”

He carefully maneuvered around Leorio to head out to the patio for the ceremony. On his wrist, his watch ticked ever-closer to midnight. The end of the year, an ending and a beginning, an arbitrary knife dropping down to cut time into more manageable slices and, for better or worse, splitting Kurapika’s life into a new _before_ and _after_.

He flicked back his sleeve to peer at the watch face, wondering if the gears might have some advice for all this, but all they did was tick.

~

Thank goodness for space heaters, Kurapika mused as he stood behind Pairo. Despite the watercolor sky streaked with indigo and lilac and the occasional flurries of snow floating down around them, the raised heat lamps kept the space warm, lit, and dry. Their use of fire was especially appropriate, he mused, given Kurta traditions on New Year’s Eve.

As planned, the traditional Kurta garments glowed under the dancing flames. The embroidery Kurapika nearly gave himself scoliosis over seemed _alive_ in the light, the loops and swirls shifting like shapes in a lava lamp, the leaves and birds flitting about in an unseen breeze. When Altair met Pairo at the altar and placed his hands in his, Pairo lifted them to his mouth to trail his lips over his knuckles.

And in the fading glow of the sunset, Pairo and Altair were married. Kurapika was not embarrassed to admit that he teared up at the ceremony. Perhaps by now he ought to be used to the tender proclamations of love, support, and fidelity so long as they both shall live, but it was _different_ when it was his brothers. When it was the stumbling little boy Kurapika watched grow into a generous, charming man, exactly the type of man who would go to children’s hospitals to read his books for free and then fall head-over-feet in love with one of the doctors there. And Altair filled out their family beautifully, like he was always meant to be part of them. And maybe he was. Family was about so much more than blood.

(And if he felt Leorio’s gaze on him throughout the ceremony, his comment, _there is nothing here tonight as beautiful as you are_ echoing between his ears, well. At least everyone’s attention was elsewhere.)

The transfer from _ceremony_ to _reception_ was, as always, a blurred rush of movement. Kurapika allowed himself to be shepherded like a show dog about for (lowballing it here) approximately eight billion pictures. Then there was the reception proper, with champagne, black tea, chicken and lamb _biryani, tobouli,_ savory sauces, _naan_ – Pairo and Altair forwent the traditional couples’ table and instead dined with their now officially-blended family. Kurapika found himself simply _enjoying_ the celebration, warm food in his belly and warmer family all around him, before everything came crashing down all over again.

Pairo leaned over to Kurapika, beaming. His right ear was still red from the piercing, and the carefully designed sterling silver depiction of the constellation Aquila caught in the light and made the eagle look like it was about to take flight. The amethyst set in the star Altair’s spot winked at Kurapika with all the mischief of the man himself. Pairo informed him, “Just so you know, you can give the speech whenever you want. No pressure, of course. I want to digest all this food before I lead the first dance, otherwise it’ll just be me and Altair rolling around on the floor. And no one wants to see that.”

Kurapika did not choke on his tea, but only because for the second time that night every bodily function just _stopped_. Except this time was in a _horrible,_ cold way. His throat closed up and he could not even swallow. He still forced himself to painfully do so and he carefully set down his cup. “Speech?”

Pairo was in too good of a mood to notice Kurapika’s awful stillness. “The best man speech! Altair’s cousin can go first – between you and me, I think yours is going to be way better anyway, I’d rather you lead us into the party and dancing – but then, yeah! Speech! But nothing _too_ embarrassing, okay? In front of all these nice people?”

Pairo’s burgundy eyes were so _happy_ , so soft and trusting. Because of course he trusted his big brother. He trusted him to beat back the bullies and teach him how to write a cover letter and network and to plan his wedding and _not to forget the best man speech, holy shit holy shit holy fuck, Kurapika completely forgot the best man speech and now he was going to descend directly into hell where he belonged._

Kurapika forced himself to smile. “Of course. Give me a few minutes.”

He stood up, smiling and carefully pushing in his chair, and he walked to the side room where he and Pairo dressed for the wedding before. The room was silent and empty.

“Fuck,” Kurapika muttered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

How could he – How was he supposed to – How could he – How – What -?

_“Fuck!”_ Kurapika shouted, dropping the last vestiges of his control. His voice cracked like breaking ice, shuddering horribly off the walls.

A knock on the door. “Sunshine?”

Kurapika whirled around, cape flowing with the movement like water. There was a navy-and-tan blur standing in the doorway. Kurapika blinked, and twin tears rolled down his cheeks. When had that started?

“Hey, hey, sunshine, hey,” Leorio said, nudging the door shut behind him and stepping closer. “What’s all this?”

Kurapika irritably pawed at his cheeks. He was _not_ an anxious crier. He was an anxious shut-everything-down-and-get-it-done not-crier. He took a deep breath, forcing his heartbeat back into a regular rhythm through sheer will.

“I,” Kurapika said through slightly gritted teeth, “Am an _idiot._ Because somehow I forgot, in my _endless wisdom,_ that the best man customarily gives a _huge fucking speech_ to the _entire goddamn wedding,_ and I have to stand up in front of over a _hundred people_ in five minutes, and I have _fuck-all_ to say.”

Leorio and Killua’s bad swearing habits wore off on him, Kurapika mused as he finished his rambling. He took another breath, and it came a little bit easier this time. Just because he vented his worries and frustrations to Leorio. Who made everything in Kurapika’s life better just by showing up.

“Well,” Leorio started slowly. He caught Kurapika’s wrist and lifted his hand, gently pressing a cup of tea into his palm. The hot porcelain and bittersweet scent of black tea went miles towards calming him the rest of the way back to his normal levels. “To begin with. I’ve known you for almost a year now, Kurapika, and I can say with confidence that you _always_ have something to say.”

Kurapika laughed weakly and took another sip of his tea. “I just – why would he have _me_ speak? What do I know about – about love and relationships? About _any_ of this? I’m a workaholic who’s never managed to hold onto a steady relationship longer than three months. What have I _possibly_ got to say to someone who just got married?”

“Because you’re his big brother,” Leorio explained simply. “So you’ve always got something to teach him. And I think you deserve to give yourself more credit here. You’ve put together _eight weddings,_ sunshine. Eight completely different ceremonies for sixteen wildly different people in different stages of their lives. You mean to tell me you learned _nothing_ from that? Someone as brilliant and dedicated to the job as you? You know what you’re talking about. Just speak from the heart, and you’ll be great.”

“My _heart.”_ Kurapika tried to scoff, but it only came out as a strained laugh. “What does it know?”

“I think it knows a lot more than you think,” Leorio told him mildly. His hand came up to Kurapika’s cheek, carefully wiping away the last of his tear tracks with a knuckle. Kurapika could have counted the flecks of jade in his eyes. “And if you ever get nervous, just look at me. I’ll be there the whole time.”

For a long moment, they stood helplessly suspended in the moment. Kurapika barely felt the cup in his hands anymore. All that mattered was the heat of Leorio’s hand, the odd roughness of his calluses over his cheek.

_I love you,_ Kurapika thought, powerless to stop the surge of emotion welling up in his chest. He gave in, surrendering himself to it. _I love you so, so much._

“Okay,” Kurapika breathed. He nodded once. Shyly, he said, “Thank you, Leorio.”

“Of course.” Leorio checked his watch. “Always. Also, now Kalluto is probably looking for both of us, and I’m a little scared of them, so we better get back to the reception.” He met Kurapika’s eye. “Um. I’ll come find you after the speech.”

“Sure,” Kurapika agreed. He would have agreed to anything Leorio suggested at that moment. Leorio stepped back.

“Take a minute to think and calm down. I’ll see you soon.”

He left. And Kurapika was alone with his thoughts.

The tea was still hot, just short of burning his tongue and sitting heavily in his stomach when he sipped it. It tasted of black tea, rose, a hint of sweetness from honey. Kurapika settled his weight against the dressing room table, his back to the mirror, thinking.

_You know, Kurapika, you’ve changed in the time that I’ve known you._

_I’ve never seen you like this._

_I think it knows a lot more than you think._

This job changed him. Kurapika could see and accept that now. He could look at the cup of tea in his hands, feel the earring dangling beside his ear, hear the carrying laugh of Gon and the Zoldycks, and know that this job had irrevocably changed him. The weddings they put together changed him. A life he once split into black and white boxes of _personal_ and _professional_ had become a venn diagram, and Kurapika lived his life solidly, comfortably in the middle where those circles intertwined. And the moon still orbited the earth. The sun rose in the morning. Time trickled inexorably on, every second bringing them closer to midnight.

_Tick-tock, Cinderella._ Kalluto’s voice echoed in his head. Kurapika took another long breath and finished his tea. He checked himself in the mirror, smoothing his hair and making sure his cheeks were not blotchy.

He returned to the main dining room right as Altair’s cousin finished his speech. Everyone clapped, and Altair pounded him on the back in an enormous hug. His new earring winked in the candlelight, a single deep red garnet set in inky black volcanic glass. The cousin handed Kurapika the microphone, the handle slippery in his clammy hands. Kurapika’s heart was pounding so hard in his throat he felt the veins in his neck twitching.

For five agonizing seconds, Kurapika stood alone in the middle of a silent room. Above him, the string lights coalesced into a single shared point of soft white light that illuminated his space. Everyone in his life was staring at him expectantly, Pairo and Altair and Gon and Killua and Nanika and Alluka and Kalluto and his parents. And approximately a hundred other people on top of that, extended family on both sides, industry insiders, coworkers. All staring at him and waiting for him to say something amazing and powerful and deep about love and what did Kurapika know about _love_ , anyway? He was a thirty-two year old trans man so terrified of his own emotions, so paralyzed by his fear of loss, that he did not figure out he was _in love_ with his best friend until three weeks ago.

Five seconds. Kurapika finally found Leorio standing near the back, leaning against the bar. He wondered if Leorio picked the same spot where they sat together the very first time they came here on purpose. Leorio sent him a wink and a thumbs-up.

_Breathe,_ Kurapika thought. _Just breathe. It’s going to be okay._

“Um,” Kurapika started, his voice cracking. Christ, he sounded seventeen again. He cleared his throat. “For those of you who may not know, I’m Pairo’s brother. Kurapika. His _older_ one, just to be clear.” There was a smattering of chuckles around the room. He twisted to look at Pairo. “I’ve known Pairo since he was a toddler dragging a ragged, threadbare T-Rex plushie around behind him. I was there when he read his first chapter book on his own – _Dino Hunter,_ of course – because he came bursting into my room at two o’clock in the morning to tell me about it.” Another round of laughter. “I was there when he got his first notebook, when he won his first writing contest, when he was published in his first magazine. I was the first person he told about liking boys instead of girls. I’ve watched him grow and learn and fall in love. And now Altair is part of our family, too.”

Kurapika took a deep breath, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. He confessed, “To be perfectly honest, I was scared when Pairo asked me to do this, because I’ve run out of things to teach him. He’s run on ahead of me in life. Settled down, moved in with his boyfriend – now _husband,_ congratulations on that by the way – and gotten married, while I’m perpetually single and living alone in my loft apartment with an absolutely spoiled _monster_ of a cat. Stop laughing, that wasn’t supposed to be a joke.”

The room quieted again. Kurapika went on, his eyes flicking over the crowd. He was starting to smile, too, now. “But I’m also a wedding planner – I know, ironic – and I’ve learned a lot about love from my clients. So if you’ll indulge me, I’d like to share some of those lessons now.”

No one from the back shouted at him to shut the fuck up, that he didn’t have a single clue what he was talking about, so he thought he was safe to carry on. He thought back to _Light of My Life’s_ various couples, musing over their own rocky paths to the altar and the beautiful, fractured glimpses into their lives they gifted Kurapika and his team. What did they teach him? What did they teach his heart, that terrifying, _terrified_ lump of meat frantically beating in his chest?

_More than you think,_ his heart seemed to be telling him. _Trust me; I will guide you through this. Trust me, trust me, trust me._

And Kurapika explained: “Love isn’t just found in eloquent professions or grand, romantic gestures. It’s supporting each other through your lowest, worst moments and coming out the other side stronger for it. It’s standing together, hand in hand, against the world. It’s in looking at someone simply existing in the world and seeing them as they are: good, beautiful, strong, intelligent, kind. It’s in your communication and your foundation and trusting that all good things will come together in time. It’s in the family that you build together. It’s in the work you each put in to get through the hard times. Together.”

There. That’s what his clients taught him. Menchi and Buhara; Morena and Theta; Pokkle and Ponzu; Knov and Morel; Knuckle and Shoot; Canary and Amane. But so many more people showed him what love was. He pictured Pairo and Altair on his couch, laughing at him and judging him and helping him put his own puzzle-piece heart together into something cohesive and beautiful. He smiled at his brothers and saw the way they were clutching each others hands, mouths beaming and eyes dewy.

He told them, “It’s in the way you can communicate in gestures and looks, and sometimes, without looking at all. It’s in banter and private jokes and finishing each other’s sentences. It’s in casual touches and... pouring their coffee before your own.”

His eyes swept the room and found Killua and Gon. Gon had his camera hefted onto one shoulder, and Killua stood behind him, arms around his waist and chin on his shoulder. “It’s on the first day you wake up and realize the way you look at the world has changed. The way you open your hands and your heart and give what you have, simply for the joy of being received.”

Kurapika saw Killua’s breath catch and Gon’s hand flex over the fingers interlaced over his middle. Heedless of their surroundings and of the running camera, Gon twisted to kiss Killua on the mouth.

He turned his head back to Leorio. The man had not moved; indeed, he looked like he was nailed to the floor. His eyes were so intense as they watched him that Kurapika was almost surprised he had not yet burst into flame. Kurapika said, “It’s in the moment you see someone you’ve never met before, but you look at them and just _know_ , to your core, that this is really going to be something.”

A chorus of _oohs_ went around the room. Even from this distance Kurapika saw the way Leorio’s face went red, and he ducked his chin, looking bashful and embarrassed.

_How was I such a fool before,_ Kurapika wondered, _How was I so blind, so willfully ignorant and oblivious. How did it take me so long to realize you were talking about me. I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. I’m sorry I made you wait for so long._

Kurapika did not want this man to wait another second. He did not want Leorio to spend another moment trapped in this limbo. So he confessed in the middle of a silent room in front of over a hundred people, “It's the first time you hear them laugh, and your entire world’s axis shifts beneath your feet.”

Kurapika watched the confused frown on Leorio’s face when he heard that, amused by the almost puppyish tilt to his head as he considered it. He knew the moment Leorio realized what he meant when his eyes blew wide, amazed and awed and _achingly_ soft. His lips parted.

Kurapika made himself turn away from the arresting sight. “One of my favorite venues lately was the Roseview Ballroom downtown. Among its many beautiful, gaudy attractions are its murals depicting scenes from Shakespeare’s plays all across the ceiling. One is a famous quote from _Twelfth Night:_ ‘journeys end in lovers meeting, every wise man’s son doth know.’ But the more I think about it, the less I agree.”

He turned to meet Pairo’s eyes again, repeating, “‘Journeys end in lovers meeting.’ But nothing is ending here. It’s just changing.”

“Because what I’ve learned in this job, Pairo and Altair, what nugget of wisdom I have to give you, is this. Love is looking at a world that can be terrifying, cold, capricious, and indifferent, and finding the person whose hand you want to hold through it all anyway. Because you want every laugh, every tear, every wrinkle, every spark of joy. Love is life’s greatest leap of faith, because you don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. But you know exactly who you want to spend all those tomorrows _with.”_

Kurapika looked around the room again. At Gon and Killua; at Kalluto, Nanika, and Alluka; at his parents; at his brothers. At Leorio. 

He concluded, “So you simply _breathe_. And you trust it will be okay.”

There wasn’t a dry eye in the room when Kurapika dropped the microphone to his side.

~

The reception passed in a haze.

Kurapika could not get a moment to himself after his speech. First his brothers accosted him, Pairo and Altair crying (Pairo _sobbing)_ onto his shoulders. Altair commended him for his emotional breakthroughs and Pairo demanded to know who wrote that speech so he could hire them as his ghost writer and take a damn vacation.

Next were his parents, who were similarly impressed with his speech. His father asked if they could meet “that Leorio fellow” now, and his mother lightly smacked his arm and pointed to him where he stood in the back of the room, deep in conversation with Kalluto, and asked how he could have _possibly_ missed him. Then there was a never-ending assortment of cousins, aunts, uncles, Altair’s coworkers, writers, and editors who _refused_ to believe Kurapika was not secretly some sort of writer or poet or performer after a speech like that. It was nearly two agonizing hours before Kurapika was no longer the third-most interesting person in the room. Two hours of talking, dancing, shmoozing. Two hours closer to midnight, two more hours Kurapika made Leorio wait.

At last Kurapika extricated himself from a conversation with some meddlesome, well-intentioned aunts who nevertheless had no idea that setting him up with the various young women in their lives would only be an exercise in disappointment for them all. He peered around the room, but even for Leorio’s height he could not pick him out of the crowd. But there was one place he trusted Leorio might go to have this conversation, so Kurapika fetched two warm glasses of mulled wine and slipped up a back staircase.

The most beautiful man in the world was exactly where Kurapika guessed he would be. The clouds overheard were a beautiful slate gray as the snow started to roll in. Every now and again the glitter-flecked country sky filtered in and out of view. What were flurries before were now snow drifting lazily.

“I hope you weren’t waiting too long,” Kurapika said by way of greeting as he approached. Leorio stood up straight from his position leaning against the railing and he turned to watch him approach. But there was only a light dusting of snow over Leorio’s shoulders and melting his hair out of its carefully arranged gelled style, so he believed him when Leorio shook his head.

“Only a few minutes,” he confessed. Kurapika approached him slowly, holding out a cup of wine. Leorio accepted it with a quiet thanks and took a sip. For a few minutes they stood in companionable silence. Kurapika took a deep breath, inhaling the smoky scent of the winter night and the citrus-cinnamon smell of the wine.

“That was a hell of a speech,” Leorio finally said. Kurapika chuckled.

“Thank you. Would you believe me if I said I barely remember it?” Kurapika asked. Leorio’s laugh was a white cloud. “My knees were shaking so much I worried you might hear them knocking together.”

“You were very poised,” Leorio assured him. “Cool as a cucumber.”

“Now you’re just flattering me,” Kurapika scoffed. He looked up to meet Leorio’s eyes. “Thank you. For calming me down. For all of this. For being my friend, for being here for me. For everything.”

Leorio smiled. “You make it easy.”

Kurapika’s face flushed. Shyly, he tapped the rim of his glass. He sensed Leorio shifting nervously beside him.

_Come on,_ he ordered himself. _Come on, come on, be brave, come on._

_Breathe, and trust it will be okay._

_Tick tock, Cinderella._

Kurapika cleared his throat. “So. We need to talk.”

Leorio nodded. He sounded vaguely like he was being strangled when he said, “Yes.”

Silence. Then –

“Kurapika –”

“Leorio –”

“Oh, _no_ , not this again,” Kurapika groaned, shoving a hand through his hair. Despite the circumstances, Leorio snickered at his outburst. He scowled up at Leorio, pointing a finger just under his chin. Leorio peered down at his vaguely threatening motion with a mix of bemusement and wariness and toe-curling hope. “I’m on a roll actually talking about my emotions tonight, so I very much would like to go first.”

Leorio’s smile widened. His eyes glittered in the night. How he was so fucking _stunning_ , Kurapika could not fathom. Leorio nodded, indicating for him to proceed. “By all means.”

Which he supposed meant he needed to actually open his mouth and make words come out. He took another sip of his mulled wine, for warmth and courage and because it was really good, okay? He was entitled to some creature comforts as he walked up to the switchboard controlling his life and slammed down the fucking self-destruct button.

“Okay,” Kurapika started. “Okay. So, you asked weeks ago if you had anything to do with my hesitance to re-sign the contract. And I told you it wasn’t about you, which was mean –” 

“Yes, I recall,” Leorio said dryly. He leaned one elbow on the railing, turning so he could more easily meet Kurapika’s eyes as he spoke. “We’ve already gone over our apologies and –”

“– But it was a _lie,”_ Kurapika interrupted, terrified and all the louder for it. His heart was beating violently against the inside of his chest, his lungs aching like he was running, but he stayed in place and held his ground. _Breathe,_ he told himself. _Be brave._ “Because my issues were with _you_. But not – not _issues_ , exactly, just…”

_I just love you with everything I have and everything I am. I’m just so scared to lose you. I’m just so scared to lose this. I’m so scared to make a choice but I need to, because midnight is less than an hour away and I’m so, so tired of living my life in stasis, in looking before I leap. I want to break this snowglobe, I want to press play, I want to step out from behind the viewing glass and live my life, and I want to live it with you. Take my hand and take this leap with me, because even if my life shatters into pieces all around me, I think you and I will make something so much better from the leftover fragments._

“Oh, fuck it,” Kurapika cried, sick of overthinking and of waiting and of _himself_ , if he was brutally honest. He slammed his mulled wine onto the railing hard enough the red wine sloshed over the side to stain the snow on the railing. He clenched his hands into fists at his side and looked Leorio in the eye and announced, _“I like you.”_

Leorio’s eyes went wide, like this was actually some kind of revelation to him. Like he did not know that Kurapika’s entire life and daily thoughts revolved around this man since, put generously, August. Also, saying _I like you_ had a distinctly high-school feel to it, but Kurapika thought it might be a bit much to lead with, _I love you, and I also want to make slow, sweet love to you, the kind with hand holding and eye contact that makes me want to hide in a cave for the rest of my life, except it’s okay if it’s you._

Kurapika’s hands were shaking, his breath leaving him in short puffs of air that condensed into white clouds in front of his face, but the dam had broken and now everything was spilling out. Kurapika chucked his pride over the balcony ledge and utterly succumbed to it, to the truth pouring out of his chest, and finally, _finally_ , he felt like he could float again.

“I like you a lot,” Kurapika said. “I am _so into you._ I want to date you, and hang out on the couch and watch bad TV, and go out to dinner and walk in the park and hold your hand, I don’t even _know_ what parks there are around here, but I want to Google them and get in the car and _go,_ and I want to double-date with my brothers, and babysit your niece with you, and slow-dance with absolutely no mind for tempo, and bicker with you over cornichons –”

_“_ _Baby. Pickles.”_ Leorio interjected, hilariously, adorably, like that was the part he needed to most immediately respond to, and Kurapika was _so fucking in love with him_ he almost passed out.

Still, he was no pushover. “I will never call them that and stop trying to make me.” Leorio laughed aloud. It was a loud, bright, almost hysterical sound. Kurapika was too far gone to even contemplate the _why_ behind it right now. 

“Anyway.” Kurapika inhaled deeply. “To the most acute issue at hand. I put off signing the contract until the literal last second because I was so terrified to make a choice. Stay, and never tell you. Or leave, and do. But neither of those actually include what _you_ want out of this… Thing. I want to date you. And I want to stay. And I would _very much_ appreciate your input on that decision. And where we go from here, if there is a ‘we.’”

Leorio was still staring at him. Kurapika weakly spread his hands in a half-hearted _ta-da_ motion. “So. There it is. That’s everything, my whole business. All on the table. I like you.” He looked up to meet Leorio’s eyes. That _expression_ was back on his face, the one that was soft and amazed and shocked and maybe a little punch-drunk. It was the same way he’d looked at Kurapika during his speech. When Kurapika delivered his gift for Carmelita’s baby shower. Kurapika’s voice cracked as he concluded his rambling speech, a mix of relief at having everything out in the open and terror and just _emotion_.

Kurapika whispered, “I like you _so much.”_

For a few moments, the only sound between them was the music from inside, oddly muted by the falling snow and the closed doors. The faint sounds of their breathing. They stared at each other, Leorio thinking, Kurapika watching the ground as it rose up to meet him.

Eventually, Leorio took a sip of his mulled wine. He set it on the railing. He took a step closer to Kurapika. Every motion was careful, deliberate, measured. Kurapika looked up into those hazel eyes, but he wasn’t sure what he saw there.

“I guess now I should tell you that I haven’t been totally honest with _you_ , either,” Leorio confessed, which almost knocked Kurapika flat on his ass. His shock must have registered on his face, because Leorio chuckled. “I mean – I knew that you were struggling with some decisions. And I wanted to respect that and give you your space. You were stressed enough without me adding my own shit to the pile. But maybe I should have thrown in my two cents a while ago. I think it would have saved both of us a lot of unnecessary pain and angst.”

“Leorio,” Kurapika started to protest, because he hated to hear Leorio blame himself for anything.

“Kurapika,” Leorio said. “What I’m trying to say is, there is a third option. One I don’t think ever occurred to you. I don’t think you even thought to _ask_ for it.”

He stepped closer. He still telegraphed his movements, giving Kurapika plenty of time to step away or pull back. Slowly, he raised a hand to cup Kurapika’s cheek. His skin was almost feverishly hot against Kurapika’s in the cold night. He found himself turning into the touch, involuntarily seeking out more of that dizzying warmth and contact.

Leorio angled his face up, and, oh, he _glowed_ in this light, his skin tan and eyes greenish-gold from the space heater a few feet away, snowflakes catching on his hair and lashes, cheeks flushed from the cold and lips stained red from the wine.

His gaze flicked down to Kurapika’s mouth. Pure _want_ fizzled from his spine all the way to his toes.

“You can have both, you know.”

He hesitated for just another agonizing moment, like he was waiting for Kurapika to jerk back and flip him over the balcony railing (as if he’d have waited until _now_ to do that). When Kurapika did not move, he shut his eyes, closing the distance between them.

And –

And he –

Kurapika forgot how to kiss. Hell, he barely remembered how to _be_ kissed. He forgot how to think or move or breathe or do _anything_ that was not reflexively shut his own eyes and simply _feel_ , his brain shocked into silence by the incredible heat of Leorio’s lips on his, their softness, the way he barely shifted, simply pressing his mouth to his in an motion so chaste and tender that Kurapika might have thought it wasn’t there at all.

Leorio pulled back, only for a moment, changing the angle and coming back in again. Just a bit more pressure, something a little more sure, and Kurapika shyly responded, thunderstruck and dazzled.

It was… _magical_. Incredible, enchanting, spellbinding. Leorio broke away for the second time, laying his forehead against Kurapika’s.

“You can have both,” Leorio repeated. Kurapika realized his voice was shaking, the hand tracing his cheek trembling. He pressed closer to Kurapika, breath stuttering, nose nuzzling along his. His voice broke when he murmured, “So, please. Pick both.”

_Pick both._

_Pick me._

And it was like the weights dragging Kurapika down for _months_ suddenly dropped away. The relief was so strong and palpable that tears actually sprung to his eyes. He might have floated away were it not for Leorio’s grounding presence anchoring him in place. He breathed in and it smelled like Leorio’s cologne and smoke and spiced wine, and it was _easy_ , because there was only one answer he could possibly give.

“Okay,” Kurapika breathed.

“Okay – what?” Leorio pulled back, frowning in confusion. His cheeks were red, eyes damp, and despite his scowl (or perhaps because of it), he was the most beautiful thing Kurapika had ever seen. “‘Okay?’ It’s that easy?”

Kurapika shrugged. “You make a compelling argument.”

Leorio’s scowl deepened. He poked at Kurapika’s cheek, growling with each word, “You. Are. A. Little. _Shit.”_

“I _know.”_ Kurapika rolled his eyes and pulled his hand away from his face. Leorio’s fingers were freezing, and Kurapika cradled his hand between two of his. Reverently, he pressed his lips to his wrist, his palm, his knuckles. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“It’s okay.” Leorio’s other hand slid up the back of Kurapika’s neck to slide through his hair. “We’re here now.”

And he pulled Kurapika into a hug, half-lifting him onto his tiptoes and squeezing him like he’d never let go. Kurapika clasped his arms over his neck, burying his face into his shoulder, half-delirious in relief and laughing at nothing. Because it was _okay_ , everything was okay, he could keep his job and he could be with Leorio, because Leorio wanted him to stay, Leorio wanted to date him, too, and now all they had was time. 

His arms felt _delicious_ around Kurapika, firm and sculpted, and Kurapika pressed his face into the side of his neck, trailing kisses over the column of his throat, up to his ear, along the sharp angle of his jaw, finding his mouth –

And there was no hesitation or confusion when Kurapika kissed him now. He dragged himself up to his full height and yanked Leorio down so that he curved protectively, possessively over him, carding his hands through his hair. It was short and thick, so different from Kurapika’s longer, much finer strands, and Leorio made a _delectable_ sound when he pulled on it. Kurapika greedily inhaled every sound Leorio made, every sigh and gasp and satisfied, relieved, barely-there moan.

And his kiss – Kurapika could have stayed out here all night, just kissing Leorio until he could not see straight (he would probably make some kind of gay joke about how he could _never_ see straight, and Kurapika would suck a deep bruise into the side of his neck for such a stupid, delightful joke). Because Leorio was so wonderfully _responsive_ under his hands, his lips, answering Kurapika when he kissed him fast, hard, desperate, or when he kissed him slowly, lingering, a barely-there brush of hot lips against his, a tease and a promise –

But then Leorio dropped him back to his feet and crowded him against the balcony railing, catching Kurapika’s jaw in his and arching over him, taking the lead and kissing him so deeply, so thoroughly, tongue sliding over his, and he tasted like red wine and apple brandy and oranges, teeth catching at his lower lip, and Kurapika _whined_. Leorio broke the kiss to trail his lips over Kurapika’s neck, nipping sharply at his earlobe, and Kurapika choked on air.

Read: Kurapika _could have_ stayed there kissing him all night. But he had other things in mind.

“I need –” Kurapika breathed, inhaling shakily again when Leorio took advantage of his open mouth to kiss him again. Leorio caught his lower lip again, tongue tracing the flesh so gently it tickled, before claiming Kurapika’s mouth again in a fierce kiss Kurapika felt burning in his lower stomach. He made a sharp sound that was a mix between a moan and a whimper. He pulled back with great difficulty, hand caught in the hair at the back of Leorio’s neck. Leorio’s lips were red and slick and kiss-swollen, his eyes bright and so dilated Kurapika struggled to see where pupil ended and iris began. He looked alluring, debauched, _hot_ , and all they’d done was make out like teenagers. Kurapika wanted to throw him down and come up for air next week.

“I need,” Kurapika stated, speaking slowly and enunciating clearly, “To take. You. Home.”

Leorio lifted an eyebrow, a smirk dancing over his lips. “That’s forward of you.”

Kurapika almost snarled at him. “I think I’ve waited long enough.”

“Is that so?” Leorio moved down, his lips finding his jaw and kissing a path back to his ear. Tracing the shell of his ear, teeth closing around the dolphin earring, he murmured, “What about how long _I’ve_ waited?”

“That argument works in my – _favor.”_ Leorio, cheater extraordinaire, slid his knee between Kurapika’s legs, he he almost buckled right there.

“Maybe I just want to take things slow.” Leorio punctuated his statement with a grind that left Kurapika gasping.

“Doesn’t feel like it,” Kurapika said through gritted teeth. Leorio laughed into his ear.

“Good. Because I don’t.”

The dark promise in his voice made Kurapika shiver, a shimmying full-body thing that rocked him from head to toes curling in his shoes. Or maybe that was the winter chill, because it was _really_ cold out here, actually. Kurapika grasped Leorio’s jaw and twisted him so they were face to face. “Then keep it together long enough for me to _drag you home.”_

Something about this statement gave Leorio pause. He pulled back far enough to meet Kurapika’s gaze, a small smile on his mouth. “You call it home, now.”

“What?” Kurapika asked, thrown by the non sequitur.

“Your loft,” Leorio said. He ran a hand over Kurapika’s hair, brushing off the snow dusting his hairline. “You called it home. You’ve been doing that more and more often lately.”

Kurapika hummed thoughtfully at that. He traced his fingers over Leorio’s cheeks, the slope of his nose, the angles of his jaw. His scruff caught against his fingertips. 

“It is home,” he murmured. “It’s home if it’s with you.”

Leorio did not cry, but from the sudden shine to his eyes, it was a near thing. He swallowed thickly, his voice cracking as he said, _“Fuck,_ sunshine.”

He kissed Kurapika again, lingering, sweet, lips clinging like honey. Kurapika could only melt into it. It felt _good_ , he realized, to surrender his control like this, to stop thinking and simply _feel_ , to bask in the affection and adoration wrapped up in every kiss, every time Leorio’s hands traced his jaw, cupped his neck, slid through his hair. He was panting faintly when they broke apart, despite the kiss’s unhurried pace.

“Okay,” Leorio said to him. “Let’s get out of here.”

He caught Kurapika’s hand in his, racing down the staircase and laughing like teenagers. Kurapika met Pairo’s gaze from across the room where he and Altair were spinning slowly around the dance floor. Twenty-five years of friendship and growth coalesced into a split second as Kurapika grinned at Pairo like he hadn’t in years, broadcasting, _you were right, everything is okay, I’m so happy for you, but now I need to go home and get absolutely railed by my best friend._

Pairo sent him a wink and a smirk, which was the equivalent of, _I knew it would work out in the end, I love you, thank you for everything, use protection._

Except their getaway momentum stalled the second they set foot outside and saw Kurapika’s car half-buried in snow.

“Huh,” Leorio huffed. He kicked at a tire. “You know, if you had a real car, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Shut up.” Kurapika scooped up a handful of snow and threw the unpacked powder at Leorio. He spluttered over it, pawing at his face, and Kurapika _laughed_ brightly enough to rival the string lights. He unlocked his car to grab a snow brush. “Help me with this.”

“Romantic,” Leorio snarked, but he caught the brush without complaint.

A few minutes later they climbed into the car. Kurapika turned the engine over and turned on the front and back window defrosters. Now, there was nothing they could do until the windows de-fogged enough for Kurapika to see the road.

He met Leorio’s eye. He sent Kurapika a roguish wink. “Now, where were we…?”

He cupped Kurapika’s cheek again, leaning in. He was a hairsbreadth away when Kurapika suddenly gasped and yanked himself back, hard enough he almost hit his head against his own window and Leorio flopped pathetically on the center console.

“Wait!”

“What?” Leorio asked. He looked utterly terrified, like he couldn’t believe he’d already fucked this up. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I don’t want you to feel pressured or like you have to do anything you don’t want –”

“I need to send an email!” Kurapika blurted, interrupting Leorio’s ridiculous rambling. As if he wasn’t going to climb this man like a tree the _second_ they were home. He dug into his pocket for his phone.

“A – what?” Leorio asked, utterly baffled. “You – _now?_ It’s almost midnight –”

“Exactly!” Kurapika cried. He unlocked his phone and pulled up his email.

For a few seconds, the car was silent. There was only the hum of the fans and the faint tap of Kurapika’s thumbnails against the screen.

“You’re ridiculous,” Leorio said, wondering and adoring and amused. Kurapika wondered if he even realized he was speaking aloud. “You are the most ridiculous man I’ve ever met. God, I love you.”

Kurapika froze, nearly dropping his phone. He slowly turned to Leorio, his eyes so wide he wondered if they might fall out of his head. Leorio froze, looking mortified.

“And I said that out loud. Okay. Cool. Because _that_ didn’t seem desperate or _way_ too early or _way_ too much. Speaking of making you uncomfortable. I am going to dive into the snow outside and let the storm take me. You take care.”

Kurapika found his voice. “I’d have to dive in with you, then.”

Leorio gaped at him. Kurapika’s mouth twitched up into a smile. It felt like the last nine months of his life, and the thirty-two years before that, all led up to this moment, this conversation in this car, everything slotting into place in the best ways, because it was suddenly so, so easy to look at Leorio Paladiknight and say, “I love you, too.”

And Leorio just smiled, happy and relieved, the dimple on his cheek coming out. Kurapika smiled back, and he returned to his email.

~

Snow floated gently past Bisky Krueger’s window. Her fingers flew over the computer keys, replying to yet another email. She learned long ago that no one in this city actually slept, including her. Especially her.

She scowled at the email from _g_freeccss_exec@netflix.com_ , the stupid, arrogant asshole, declining to attend a meeting discussing _Light of My Life_ for the fifth time. Bisky wondered if he even knew his son worked on the show, or if he hadn’t even bothered opening those emails.

The selfish prick. His son traveled thousands of miles to this city just to find him, to reconnect, to _maybe_ try their hand at being a family, and the man wouldn’t go down two flights of stairs to meet him.

Bisky was lost in a daydream about suplexing Ging Freeccss into the fucking bay when her email dinged again. But instead of some asshole exec that Bisky wasn’t paid enough to deal with, it was the exact email she stayed up to receive.

_**From: k_lukso_loml@netflix.com** _

_Good evening Bisky,_

_I hope this email finds you well. I have attached my signed e-copy of the_ Light of my Life _season two_ contract. I look forward to continuing to work with you.

_Thank you for this opportunity. And for your patience, Bisky. Happy New Year._

_Best,  
Kurapika_

Bisky read the email once, twice, thrice. A wide grin spread across her face and she checked the clock on her laptop. _11:55pm._

_Cutting it a bit close,_ Bisky thought with a laugh. She knew she liked that kid for a reason.

She forwarded the email to the legal team and sighed with relief. She’d held off on finding a replacement for Kurapika for this exact reason: hoping that he, and that show partner of his, would get themselves sorted out. And they did, without a moment to spare.

Her phone vibrated. Flipping it over, she read the incoming notification.

_PayPal Notification: 7,355j deposited in your account._

Beneath it, Kalluto wrote, _Well played, Bisky. Happy New Year._

Bisky threw back her head and laughed. Then she went to her favorite jewelry website and started sorting prices by _High to Low._

~~~

Miraculously, they made it back to Kurapika’s loft.

It wasn’t even like the drive was particularly _fraught_. Sure, Kurapika needed to drive slower than he would have liked on the unpaved snowy roads. But between the snow and the confession, the ardor between them cooled to a manageable burn. Kurapika kept both hands on the steering wheel (because of the weather). Leorio kept his hands to himself. They bickered over music and directions and Kurapika’s driving skills. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

But eventually they made it home. Up the elevator. Into Kurapika’s apartment. And Leorio was on him again the moment the door swung shut behind them, crowding Kurapika’s back against his own door and tilting his face up to his. Kurapika dropped his keys into the tiny bowl next to the door and started toeing off his shoes.

“Shoes,” He admonished Leorio when they broke apart for a breath.

“Brat,” Leorio mumbled. Kurapika let out a breathy laugh next to his ear.

“I’ll show you brat.”

Leorio _groaned_ , his face tucked into the crook of Kurapika’s neck and shoulder. Instead of replying, he bent down to catch Kurapika’s thighs and _lift him,_ dear God, like he didn’t weigh anything. Kurapika hummed in approval, locking his ankles together behind Leorio’s back because if this man pulled away he was pretty sure he would actually die on the spot. The angle was _perfect_ , because he no longer needed to crane his neck back uncomfortably just to meet Leorio’s kiss. His hungry fingers roamed over Leorio’s arms, his chest, his sculpted back, catching at his tie and loosening it.

“Eager,” Leorio laughed against Kurapika’s mouth. Kurapika drew back enough to glare at him.

“I almost _shredded_ this damn suit off of you the first time I saw you in it,” Kurapika told him. He yanked at Leorio’s suit lapels. “Off. _Now.”_

“You’re bossy,” Leorio observed, grinning. Kurapika about lost his damn mind when Leorio pulled his arms out from under him, bracing Kurapika’s weight against the wall with only his legs, and tugged the suit off and down his arms to pool on the floor.

“Is that a problem?” Kurapika asked weakly.

“The opposite. I’m _into_ it.” Leorio leaned into him again, arms caging Kurapika against the door, and he did something with his hips and his tongue that made Kurapika’s back _arch_. 

“Hn – upstairs,” Kurapika ordered him. Leorio did it again, teeth scraping the side of his neck, and he made a noise he would never, ever admit to making. _“Leorio.”_

“Fine,” Leorio conceded, and he pulled away from the door. It was a testament to how familiar he was with Kurapika’s apartment that he could maneuver them quickly and safely through the living area, up the stairs, and into the bedroom in the dark with Kurapika wrapped around him like an octopus.

Kurapika unlaced his legs from Leorio’s waist and nimbly dropped to the floor. Leorio opened his mouth to speak, but Kurapika pushed against his chest until he dropped onto the edge of the bed. Without further ado, Kurapika climbed into his lap, straddling one of his thighs, and angled Leorio’s face up into another spectacular, blazing kiss. Leorio melted against him like butter, ceding control to him. Kurapika kissed him slowly, deeply, acquainting himself with parts of Leorio he never thought he would get to see. The way his neck erupted in goosebumps when Kurapika’s nails scraped over his scalp, the way his muscles tightened under Kurapika’s wandering hands, the way he stifled a moan against Kurapika’s lips when he shifted his knee just _so_ , the gasp he couldn’t hide when Kurapika tugged at his earlobe with his teeth.

“Wait, just – _ha_ – sunshine,” Leorio said, and Kurapika immediately pulled back. The bedroom was illuminated in blue light as the city lights refracted against the falling snow. He watched as Leorio’s gaze flicked over his face, his heart in his throat. He looked at Kurapika like he was a storybook prince who just stepped off the page for him and him alone. Like a king, like an emperor, like an _angel_.

“You are,” Leorio breathed, hand trailing reverently over Kurapika’s cheek. _“So_ beautiful.”

Kurapika pressed his cheek into his hand. He slid his hand up Leorio’s front to press his hand over his heart. His heart raced against his palm. “So are you.”

_So are you. Inside and out. You are my favorite person, my best friend. I love you._

Leorio’s eyes dipped over Kurapika’s body where he hovered over him, hot and wanting. He licked his lips, a subconscious tell of where his mind was going, and Kurapika almost burst into flame. “You’re overdressed.”

Kurapika’s hands went to his shirt buttons. “So are you.” He met Leorio’s eyes. “Sorry in advance.”

“Sorry? For wh–?”

Kurapika yanked at his shirt collar, snapping buttons all the way down to Leorio’s navel. Leorio’s breath caught in his throat.

“Oh,” he said, his voice an octave higher than usual. “I see. What would happen if _I_ did that?”

“Nothing good,” Kurapika promised, and he leaned in to start mouthing down Leorio’s neck. Leorio groaned like he wasn’t sure if that was a threat or an invitation, and to be perfectly honest, Kurapika wasn’t sure either.

Leorio’s skin were hot against his as he carefully unbuttoned his shirt with shaking fingers. Halfway down his chest, his hands brushed against his scars, and Kurapika automatically froze.

“Okay. So.” Leorio did not pull away, but his hands were a steadying pressure on his waist. Kurapika pushed him down until his back met the bed, and he went willingly. “The scars. Okay to touch? Avoid them?”

Oh, this _man_. Kurapika wanted to eat his heart out of his chest. He wanted to make him melt into the mattress. It was hard to articulate his thoughts through the hazy film of lust covering all of his thoughts. Leorio’s dusting of chest hair and the outline of his pectorals and abdomen were much more interesting to him as he explained, “I mean, I’d rather you not like, trace them or anything, but it’s okay if you touch them in passing. Just… no special attention, or anything.”

“Okay. Cool.” Leorio made a noise in the back of his throat when Kurapika’s teeth scraped over his sternum, not hard enough to hurt, but applying enough pressure he involuntarily bucked into Kurapika’s body. He made another sound that was like kerosene on the fire in Kurapika’s belly. Valiantly, Leorio was still trying to talk. “I just. I’ve never been with a trans dude before. Not that I think it’s going to be, y’know, wildly different or unusual, I just wanted you to know. Because. Communication. So, I’ll follow your lead. You’re in charge.”

How _dare_ he still be able to articulate semi-cohesive thoughts. How _dare_ he be so good, so kind and open. Kurapika wanted to _destroy_ him, unravel him like a tapestry, until he was nothing but string in his arms to wave together again. He loved this man _so much_ and he wanted to screw him until he forgot his own _name_.

“Careful,” Kurapika breathed against his skin. “You’ll ruin me for anyone else.”

Hands suddenly closed around Kurapika’s jaw, not forceful but _guiding_ , drawing him off of Leorio’s chest and up to bring them face-to-face again. Leorio’s hazel eyes were nothing but liquid fire, so bright they were nearly their own light source, and so intense that Kurapika actually made a small sound in his throat.

Leorio’s voice was husky and rough when he looked Kurapika dead in the eye and told him, _“Good.”_

Kurapika could not do anything except nod weakly, wisps of blond hair tickling Leorio’s temples. He faintly agreed, “Good.”

They held each other’s gaze for another long moment. Then Leorio tugged him down, their bodies pressing into a single searing line, sparks firing, and he flipped them over so that he was the one pressing Kurapika into the mattress. They shifted up over the bed, laughing into one another’s mouths and shedding clothes, until they were resting against the pillows, Leorio’s warm weight braced on his elbow as he hovered over Kurapika.

“I never thought I’d get to do this,” Leorio breathed into his ear, lips tickling in the hollow just behind his ear. His free hand slowly traced swirls and nonsense patterns across Kurapika’s chest, each swipe trailing lower and lower. “I’ve wanted to be in your bed for _months.”_

Kurapika scoffed. “Not me in yours?”

“Of course, but I live in a studio apartment. This fantasy has a bit more of that _je ne se quois.”_

“You’re still not – whatever,” Kurapika sighed. He ran his hands over the muscles in Leorio’s back, feeling the way his skin heated and gave against his wandering fingers. He smirked up at him. “Tell me about these fantasies of yours.”

“Yeah?” Leorio asked, laughter in his voice as he kissed slowly across Kurapika’s collarbones. “What’ll you do about them if I do?”

“I’m a wedding planner, you see,” Kurapika said with a straight face, ignoring the way Leorio laughed into his skin. He sucked a red hickey into his chest, and Kurapika _squirmed._ “I have lots of experience bringing people’s dreams to life.”

“Hmm,” Leorio mused. “That’s nice of you to offer. But I think I’d prefer to give a demonstration.”

“Okay – _oh,”_ Kurapika breathed, and he let Leorio unravel him, piece by piece by piece, again and again and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaand that's it!! thank you for reading!! we've only got the epilogue after this!! 💖


	11. epilogue: some fairy-tale bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> endings aren't endings, really. they're just new beginnings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all. Y'ALL. it's here. we're here. almost 175k words later. this is the longest work i have ever written. and your response to it has BLOWN ME AWAY, time and again. thank you for taking this journey with me. thank you for your patience, your comments, your kudos, your love, your support, your opinions, your vulnerability. i don't even have the words for it. i just. thank you all, from the bottom of my heart. thank you, thank you, thank you!!!!! 💖💖💖
> 
> please enjoy this final installment.
> 
> this chapter title is taken from the song "something just like this," by coldplay. to fit with the wedding theme, i referred to [this cover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=goLc5fOQQUQ) by madilyn bailey and alex goot.

**_Five Months Later_ **

Early spring light shone through the car windows. It caught spring’s first green buds the returning bluebells and dandelions lining the highway. Kurapika drove with one hand on the wheel, the other interlaced with Leorio’s. Kurapika was feeling very proud of himself because he’d finally managed to make it to _Something for Everyone_ without using his GPS. Leorio reminded him that it had been a year, leaving Kurapika sticking his tongue out at him and Leorio buying them both coffee as an apology.

“Are the dozen donuts for me, too?” Kurapika asked wryly.

“Nope. _Those_ are for me, sunshine,” Leorio said, sipping his coffee. He ran his thumb over Kurapika’s knuckles. Kurapika shook his head, smiling as they pulled into the Zoldyck’s driveway behind Gon’s car. Killua _finally_ bucked up the courage to ask Gon to move in around Valentine’s Day, leading to Kalluto winning something in the realm of six hundred jenny and a blanket ban on bets about peoples’ love lives forever.

(Undeterred, Kalluto set up the next pool that very same day. A pool that Leorio had on good authority that he was going to win today. Kurapika would have argued with him about it, but he wasn’t _that_ much of an asshole. Also, now that they were dating, they were sharing in each other’s victories and losses and all that.)

“You ready?” Leorio asked, unclasping his seatbelt and standing up out of the car. He stretched his arms over his head, his shirt riding up to show a tan stripe of skin just above his waist. Kurapika eyed it shamelessly as he sipped his iced coffee.

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed.

As always, the Zoldyck residence was a welcoming bastion of noise and light. The blinds were open and the windows cracked just enough to allow the spring breeze to float into the house. Coffee burbled cheerfully in the kitchen and the air smelled like dark roast and pancakes. Killua eyed the box of donuts Leorio brought with deep suspicion and the fruit tray Kurapika carried with a distrustful glare like it had personally put out a hit on his family (the part he didn’t like). Lilla nosed curiously at Kurapika’s hip, looking for treats, and he scratched her tenderly behind the ears. Her tail _thwacked_ Leorio just behind the knees, making him yelp and almost drop the donuts; Gon caught them with one arm and settled the pastel green box onto the kitchen island, using his free arm to wind around Killua’s waist and kiss his cheek.

Kalluto sent Kurapika a smirk and rolled their eyes, sliding Kurapika and Leorio two fresh cups of coffee. Kurapika accepted his with a nod and passed the other on to Leorio.

“Not that we need it,” Leorio grumbled, not that it stopped him from tossing out his empty mug and sipping.

Kurapika shook his head fondly, sipping his own coffee with both hands. He said, “You know, Kalluto, when I asked you to be my assistant for this coming season, I did not mean ‘please make my coffee and take my notes.’”

“You even said ‘please,’” Kalluto observed slyly. “Makes you a better boss than my brother.”

“Fuck you, Kalluto,” Killua said, flipping Kalluto off over his shoulder. He tossed a pancake without missing a beat.

Kalluto ignored their brother completely. “The webpage is live and ready to accept submissions. I checked it to make sure it worked today.”

“Have we received any applications yet?” Kurapika asked.

Kalluto nodded. “It was in the dozens when I looked at nine this morning. I was thinking –”

 _“Lalalalala,_ _no!”_ Alluka cried, slapping a hand over Kalluto and Kurapika’s mouths. _“No_ work talk today! It’s a Saturday! And today is a day to rest on our laurels and think about how amazing and impressive and powerful and sexy we are, _not_ to think about work!”

Kurapika gently removed Alluka’s hand from his mouth. Kalluto sighed and bit Alluka’s palm; she retracted her hand with a squeak and a loud, _ew, Kalluto!_

“We’re literally here to watch our own show together,” Kalluto reminded her. “I’ll feel like an egoist if I don’t think about work and how to make this show better.”

“Then keep your thoughts to yourself, because _I’m_ here to see how hot I look on camera,” Alluka warned, pointing a butter knife threateningly.

Nanika interrupted them all by shushing loudly. “Everyone shut the hell up, I found an early review for the show!”

“Who?” Kalluto asked. “If it’s that hack Tonpa from _The Daily Wire –”_

Everyone in the room groaned aloud. Nanika shook her head. “No, it’s someone from _Entertainment x Hunter_ , name’s Spinner. Okay, get this: ‘Fans of feel-god shows like _The Great Global Bake-Off, Queer Eye,_ and _Nailed It,_ get ready for your newest Netflix binge. Season one of _Light of My Life_ has released its first seven episodes, and reader, I confess I watched them all in one sitting. I also laughed, cried, and called my mom after I finished my watch session.’”

“Aww,” Alluka cooed. “What a sweetheart.”

“There’s more,” Nanika said, reading on, “‘The episodes follow seven couples’ trip down the aisle, assisted by a plucky, adorable group of professionals, all Yorknew-based: Palm Siberia of _Palm’s Profferings_ located in the West End; the mysterious heard-but-rarely-seen cameraman, Gon Freeccss; baker Killua Zoldyck –’”

“It’s _maître pâtissier,”_ Killua sniffed.

“Shut up,” Kalluto, Alluka, and Nanika said together.

“‘– Michelin-star chefs Alluka and Nanika Zoldyck, and mixologist Kalluto Zoldyck of their family-owned restaurant _Something for Everyone_ (see my review here).’ – holy shit, she’s reviewed us! – ‘Taking the lead is the intrepid duo of Kurapika, a breakout star in the Yorknew fashion scene from the past few years, and Leorio Paladiknight, who got his start on YouTube with his DIY channel _Doing It._ The pair’s genuine approach to make every couple’s wedding day special and unique is a true joy to watch and – spoiler alert – sometimes I wonder if the only sparks on the show _aren’t_ between each episode’s featured couples!’”

“Can she post that?” Kurapika wondered aloud.

“Apparently,” Kalluto scoffed.

“Wait till she finds out that she’s _right,”_ Leorio said, knocking his shoulder against Kurapika’s. He looked up at Leorio, feeling his lips draw up into a faint smile.

“Wait, indeed,” Kurapika agreed. Between their recent appearances on various talk shows on _Light of My Life’s_ press tour and their public dates, it was a minor miracle no one had connected the dots yet. They were not trying to _hide_ their relationship, per se, but they were not going out of their way to announce it to the public, either.

“‘In all seriousness, though, _Light of My Life_ is a beautiful celebration of love of all types – romantic, platonic, familial, friendship. Straight or queer, transgender or cisgender, you’ll laugh, you’ll cry, and you’ll believe in love again after watching it.’ She gave it four out of four stars,” Nanika concluded. She snorted out a little laugh. “Guess it would’ve been weird to give us less after a review like that.”

Kurapika peered around the room, taking in the small family he’d inadvertently found in the past year. This show was as far from the disastrous mistake he’d feared it might be as possible. Kurapika could not wait to sit down with everyone and plan season two. He wondered if it was possible for his heart to burst from being so incredibly, utterly, incandescently _proud_ of every one of them. All the struggles they overcame to get here, their insecurities and vulnerabilities bared and each of them stronger for it.

Leorio could not read his mind, but the other man knew him well enough by now that when he reached toward him to slide an arm around his waist, drawing Kurapika close to his side, they did not need to exchange words. They did not even need to exchange glances. Leorio only put an arm around Kurapika, and Kurapika lay his head against Leorio’s shoulder, and that was all he needed.

In truth, it was all he wanted all along.

“Pancakes are done,” Killua announced. “Let’s get this shindig on the road!”

Kurapika pulled away from Leorio with a small smile and a careful peck to his cheek and helped carry the food into the living room. Lilla followed on their heels, smelling _food_ and silently begging to sample some with her big, dark eyes.

“Lilla, move, please,” Alluka announced, carefully nudging the big dog aside with her foot. Lilla obediently followed her and stepped back long enough for them to set the platters of food on the table. Then she settled her chin on Alluka’s knee, resuming her puppy-dog stare.

“No, baby,” Nanika said, scratching Lilla’s chin. To the rest of the room, she announced, “Someone else has to get my sister and me our food, because we have urgent business that cannot be delayed.”

Killua rolled his eyes, but he and Gon started to pile breakfast onto a plate for the twins. Killua handed Alluka a plate and sat down in his usual spot. Gon handed Nanika her own food, but instead of sitting, he stood at the front of the room with his hands in his pockets. For just a moment, he looked shy and boyish as he hovered in front of the TV. Less like an accomplished, put-together man of twenty-six and more like a prepubescent. But then the moment passed, and he beamed at all of them like the golden boy he was.

“Um. Before we get started,” he announced. “I have something for you all!”

He pulled out a DVD from his pocket, explaining, “Since I’ve been doing almost all our video editing, I’ve gotten to see a lot of really beautiful and precious moments. But because they weren’t all about our couples, they weren’t going to make it into the show. I couldn’t bring myself to delete them, and they deserve to be seen, so I’ve put together a highlight reel of sorts. And I want to play it for you all now.” He shifted from foot to foot. “If that’s okay?”

“Of course it is,” Leorio said. “C’mon, pull it up!”

Gon smiled, a bright thing that did not quite meet his eyes. Kurapika wondered what was going on with him. This was a happy day, he should be celebrating with the rest of them, and he _was_ , but he was also so… so…

 _Nervous_.

And Kurapika realized what was happening. He caught Leorio’s hand and gave it a firm squeeze to stop himself from making any noise. Leorio’s poker face did not falter for a second as he squeezed back. Of course he’d figured it out first.

“Go for it,” Alluka was saying, and Gon was already putting the disc into the DVD player. He hit play, and a few moments later, the footage started rolling.

Gon’s editing was, in a word, _incredible_. He started with their introductions, flashing different early clips of them. It was barely a year ago, but Kurapika could not believe how _different_ he looked. His body language was stiffer, his smile more hesitant. For his part, Leorio looked worried and out-of-place in this early footage, not yet used to the cameras in his face and still unsure if he really deserved a space here. There was audio overlaid on top of these clips, saying:

_“Kurapika. I’m glad to be here. Thank you for the opportunity.”_

_“Leorio Paladiknight! But you already knew that. Thanks for having me!”_

Bisky’s voice cut in: _“Would you say you’re a romantic?”_

Kurapika’s voice, interspersed with various clips of him sewing and sketching: _“A romantic. Hmm. I would not say I am. Love has always struck me as a leap of faith that I’ve never been quite able to take for myself – not that that would stop me from creating a wedding, of course.”_

Clips of Menchi in her dress, twirling under Buhara’s arm; of Pokkle and Ponzu giggling on the dance floor, murmuring sweet nothings into each other’s ears; of Theta dipping Morena into a dramatic, romantic dip; of Pairo kissing Altair’s knuckles under a light-strewn, snowy sky. 

Next was Leorio’s voice: _“Oh, definitely! I wouldn’t say I believe in soulmates, but I think that every person deserves love and companionship, whatever form that takes. I think there are some people who are simply meant to spend their lives together. Not necessarily romantically, but as friends and family.”_

Knov and Morel slow-dancing under low lights; Knuckle openly crying again as Shoot walks down the aisle towards him; a shot of Palm, Canary, and Amane leaning together over a bouquet, Canary’s eyes and smile for her fiancé alone; Kurapika and Pairo throwing darts at the wall; Nanika and Alluka giggling at the camera as they approached a sleeping and Killua and poured water all over his face. The audio perfectly cut away from his feline _screech._

Then the video showed meeting that Kurapika would remember forever. He saw himself, standing so stiff and unsure in front of Leorio. He watched Leorio stick his hand out towards him, a flamethrower against Kurapika’s walls of ice. 

_“I’m Leorio! I’m going to be your design partner on the show. Kinda taking all the ideas you have and bringing them to life! It’s nice to meet you. I'm looking forward to working with you!”_

_“Very nice to meet you, Leorio. I look forward to this project, as well.”_

Next were various shots of _Something for Everyone_ in all seasons: the humid height of summer, the blustering, chilly winds of a twilight autumn, the glittering wonderland of winter. Kurapika watched Kalluto introduce themself again, watched Alluka and Nanika bicker and banter and laugh, watched Killua exit the kitchen with no idea what was waiting for him on the other side.

Then there were more clips of their group throughout the series: Leorio and Kurapika laughing and discussing carnival foods together under sunset’s orange glow, Kurapika’s blond hair shining like a beacon. Kalluto whacking their siblings with the inflatable hammer they won at the carnival wedding. Nanika giggling and making faces at a grouper half the size she was. Alluka sitting cross-legged on the floor of the _Second Chance_ shelter’s meeting room, Lilla’s head in her lap, crying openly at the camera as she rubbed the dog’s ears.

 _“We’re taking her home,”_ she announced to the camera.

Kurapika and Leorio arguing about shades of pink in a Goodwill aisle. Kurapika dozing off on Leorio’s shoulder during the Halloween party. Kurapika standing under a white makeshift spotlight, baring his heart and his soul to an entire wedding reception.

_“Love is looking at a world that can be terrifying, cold, capricious, and indifferent, and finding the person whose hand you want to hold through it all anyway. Because you want every laugh, every tear, every wrinkle, every spark of joy. Love is life’s greatest leap of faith, because you don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. But you know exactly who you want to spend all those tomorrows with.”_

Leorio and Kurapika standing together, staring up at a theater ceiling. Leorio beaming at Kurapika on a sandy beach, the salty breeze whipping their hair about, asking, _“are you ready, sunshine?”_ Leorio eagerly talking with Pairo about his book series, Kurapika fondly looking on.

Slowly, the footage changed. It gradually focused more and more on Gon and Killua: their meetings, their early dates and hang-outs, their dancing, their work in the kitchen.

In the video, Leorio’s voice spoke over the footage, saying, _“He remembers what he looked like? For real?”_

Gon’s reply: “ _Why not? I remember what Killua was wearing. White button-up rolled to the elbows, collar unbuttoned. Black jeans. Black apron. Silver studs in his ears. Cartilage piercing. He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. How could I forget the moment we met?”_

The rest of their group caught on to what was happening by now. Kalluto watched with wide, rapt, expectant eyes. Kurapika saw they’d pulled subtly their phone out and were recording the proceedings. Alluka and Nanika had their hands over their mouths in twin expressions of elated anticipation. Killua seemed frozen to the spot, unsure whether he should look at the screen or at Gon.

More footage of Killua and Gon as the video started to wind down: _“I’m just following Aunt Mito’s advice. ‘Be honest and kind, and good things will come your way.’”_

The video faded out. The room was completely silent save for Lilla’s tail tapping against the hardwood. Even _she_ knew something very, very important was happening. Kurapika crushed Leorio’s hand so tightly that he might have feared that he was cutting off feeling in his partner’s fingers were it not for Leorio doing the same to him.

“Killua,” Gon started.

“Gon.” Killua’s voice cracked. His ocean-blue eyes were already welling up. “Gon, _Gon_ , what is this – what are you –?”

“I think it’s kinda obvious, Killua,” Gon said. He crossed the room to sink down to one knee in front of Killua, taking both of his hands. Gon waited a few moments for Killua to push him away or scream _no_ loud enough for the whole countryside to hear.

“Well, yeah,” Killua agreed. He gulped wetly. “I just – are you sure – isn’t kind of – _me?_ You’re you, and I’m, I’m so… I’m just _me.”_

“Of course it’s you,” Gon said patiently. He carefully pushed Killua’s shock of white hair back from his forehead so he could look into his face properly. “It’s all I’ve thought since that day in the forest. And the day we – you know.”

Killua instantly went _scarlet_. Kurapika and Leorio swallowed twin snickers. Gon pressed on, “And the day you kissed me for the first time. And the day we met. And the day I doubled back and missed my subway to buy a magazine, just because it had your face on it.” He traced his hand over the swell of Killua’s cheek. “Of _course_ it’s you. It _has_ to be you.”

Gon reached into his back pocket to pull out a small black box. Killua gave a little gasp, and tears started leaking down his cheeks in earnest now. It was the most emotion Kurapika had ever seen Killua express at once.

“I know we haven’t been dating long,” Gon started. Which, well, at least he _knew_ that. “And I’m okay with it being a long engagement to make up for it. But I love you, Killua. I think you’re amazing, strong and smart and capable and so, so, _so_ pretty, like stardust and glitter, and your _eyes…_ ” 

Gon lifted Killua’s knuckles to his mouth, kissing the backs of his hands. Softly, he confessed, “I came to this city looking for love. Family. Somewhere to belong. People to belong _to_ and _with_. I thought it would be my dad. But you know how that worked out.”

Kurapika remembered Gon’s words the first day they met: _“My dad is some big hot-shot TV exec. He didn’t raise me, though. He kinda dropped me off on my aunt when I was an infant and came back to the mainland. I wanted to see the wonders of the silver screen. The glamor and thrill of the life he chose over raising me.”_

“But, Killua, it’s _your_ family that did that. _Your_ family that made me feel like I really _belonged_ somewhere. You accepted me with open hearts and love and – and Killua, you’re home, you’re _home_ to me. And I want to come home to _you_ , every day, forever. I want to spend my life making you happy, making you feel safe and cherished and good and valued, and making sure you _know_ you deserve it.” Gon’s eyes were amber fire as they held Killua’s. He opened the box to reveal a wedding band, silver surrounding a band of crushed blue and amber stones. “Killua Zoldyck, sugar-spun devil I love more than anything in the whole wide world: will you please, pretty please, marry me?”

Killua parted his fingers just enough to _eep_ a little sound through them. Despite the way his cheeks were still worryingly red from being the center of attention and lavished with adoring praise, his cheeks damp and eyes running, he nodded.

“Yes. Yeah, I’ll marry you.”

Gon smiled bright enough to light the entire room. He carefully slid the ring onto Killua’s finger, and Killua melted out of the chair to meet Gon on the floor and tightly clasp him into his arms, hands in his hair and face pressed against the side of his neck.

“Dumbass,” Killua mumbled. He pressed a kiss to Gon’s neck, his cheek, his mouth. “Like there’s another answer.”

And then there was pandemonium: Alluka, Nanika, and Kalluto dogpiled on top of the happy couple. Lilla, yapping loudly, tried to join in as well. Leorio and Kurapika waited for the family to untangle themselves and rose to give their well-wishes and congratulations. Killua smirked at Leorio as Kurapika admired the ring’s craftsmanship.

“Guess that’s one wedding taken care of for you, huh, old man?”

“I’m too happy to argue,” Leorio said. He put an arm around Killua and Gon and pulled them in. “Congratulations, you two!”

His phone _dinged_ with an incoming notification. Everyone’s ears perked up at the familiar sound. Killua’s grin faded into a murderous glare. He rounded on Kalluto, who only smirked.

“Congratulations, brother mine.”

“Oh, you _asshole,”_ he growled, and then he moved to launch himself at Kalluto.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Leorio cried, catching Killua’s sleeve. “Happy faces! Happy days! We’re celebrating the show!”

“Says the man who just won the pot,” Killua grumbled. It was clear from the glow on his cheeks and the smile on his face that his irritation was barely skin-deep. He settled himself onto the couch and opened his arms for Gon to join him. He let out an _oof, Gon!_ as his new fiancé practically leapt on him, bumping their noses clumsily and kissing him.

“I love you,” Gon told him, starry-eyed.

“I love you, too,” Killua said, going red all over again. 

Kurapika met Leorio’s grin and trapped his fingers between his. He asked the room, “Shall we?”

“We shall,” Alluka agreed, and she hit the play button. Kurapika nestled himself up against Leorio, pressed together from ankles to hips, arm to arm, hand in hand, heart in heart. As the _Light of My Life_ theme played, he lay his head against Leorio’s shoulder and thought about what made a home.

~

“Can’t believe it,” Leorio said as they walked through the door later that night. “Those crazy kids are getting _married.”_

“Don’t pretend you didn’t see this coming,” Kurapika teased, smirking as he hung up his coat. “You just won the pot over it.”

“Yes, but _betting on it_ and _actually seeing it happen_ are two different things,” Leorio argued. He yawned widely, covering his mouth with his arm. “I’m ten years older than them. Going to be thirty-five this year.”

“Poor baby,” Kurapika cooed, reaching up to cup Leorio’s cheek in his palm. “It’ll be the nursing home for you next.”

“You’re the _worst,”_ Leorio groaned, even as he ducked his head to press a kiss to the inside of Kurapika’s wrist. He pulled back. “I’m going to shower. What d’you want to do for dinner?”

“Delivery?” Kurapika suggested. “I don’t feel like cooking.”

“Deal!” Leorio said. He leaned down to kiss Kurapika’s cheek before half-jogging up the stairs to shower. Kurapika watched him go, chin resting on his hand with a smile. Even after a few months, he was still liable to lose his train of thought when he admired those broad shoulders and strong arms. When he saw Leorio making coffee and eggs for them in the mornings. When he woke up and rolled over to see Leorio’s peaceful face next to his.

Kurapika went to his sewing station and pulled a small box of his own out of a bottom drawer. Gon was not the only one with big plans today.

About half an hour later, Kurapika had put the final arrangements on just about everything by the time Leorio returned downstairs. Except he stopped halfway down the stairs, hand on the railing. His eyes swept over the apartment, blinking in confusion.

“What’s all this, sunshine?”

“All this” was their delivery food actually laid out on plates. The air smelled like heavy spices and samosas. He’d poured their craft beer into wine glasses. The only light in the apartment came from the white candles Kurapika lit.

Kurapika anxiously knotted and unknotted his hands in front of him. He tried to breathe the way his new therapist taught him – _in for four, hold for four, out for four._ It helped a little bit as Leorio started to smile, approaching slowly as he descended the stairs. He was dressed for bed in a set of long flannel pants and a white t-shirt. Kurapika’s growling stomach almost immediately shut up in favor of a different kind of hunger.

(Four months with him, and Kurapika was still nowhere _near_ having his fill with this man. He hoped he never did.)

“I’ll explain,” Kurapika said. He indicated the seat across from him. “Just. Sit?”

Leorio bit back a smirk and obediently took up his usual seat. The candlelight played over the sharp angles of his face, illuminating his cheeks and temples in a golden glow and catching at the caramel shades in his eyes. Leorio lifted the wine to his lips and sipped. “Is this that stout I like? The one you –”

“The one that I think smells like feet? Yes,” Kurapika said. “Which is why _you_ have it, and _I_ have the one that you said ‘had more hops than a rabbit.’”

“You laughed,” Leorio reminded him. Kurapika rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide the smile tugging at his lips. Leorio repeated, “So, not that I think there ever needs to be a _reason_ to do something nice for one’s partner, but… what’s up?”

Kurapika swallowed nervously. “Well. I’m not sure if you realized it. But today is an important anniversary.”

Leorio’s eyes blew wide. _“Fuck._ Is it really?”

“Well, important to me, at least,” Kurapika amended.

“That means it’s important to _me_ , too, babe,” Leorio argued. Kurapika sighed.

“I just – okay. I’m doing a romantic gesture now.”

“I read you loud and clear. Shutting up now,” Leorio said, miming zipping his lips closed. Kurapika was so in love with him he almost hopped the table.

“So,” Kurapika started. “Nine months ago today, you showed up at my door with this very meal. It was our first time hanging out one-on-one. It was the first time we took a step to being real _friends_. You invited yourself into my home and into my life and dragged me away from my work to focus on more important things.”

“Eating, drinking water, sleeping regular hours,” Leorio recalled, nodding. Kurapika sent him a look. Leorio snapped his mouth shut again, though nothing Kurapika did could wipe away the small smirk on his lips.

“And you’ve been doing that ever since we met. Dragging me away from work and an austere life and towards better, brighter things.” Kurapika pulled the box from a drawer beside him and settled it onto the table. Leorio’s eyes blew almost cartoonishly wide and his smirk faded away. Which was… not an auspicious start. That was okay. It’s not like it was a ring.

“I love you,” Kurapika told him simply, sliding the box over the marble countertop to settle in front of Leorio. “So I have an important question for you.”

Leorio’s fingers were shaking as he reached for the box. He flipped it open. His mouth dropped open and he released a soft gasp of surprise (and maybe relief, Kurapika hoped). Gingerly, he lifted the box’s contents to examine them in the light: a metal loop featuring a miniature manatee enamel pin, a gray key fob, and a shining silver key.

“I love you,” Kurapika repeated. “And this place isn’t home without you in it. I would love for you to move in with me.”

Leorio did not speak, but between the way his eyes softened and his smile slowly, beautifully, inexorably spread across his face, Kurapika knew his answer. Something bright and giddy exploded in his stomach like children’s sparklers and champagne. Leorio’s eyes were damp as he nodded to Kurapika, heart too full of emotion to properly express words.

“Did Emperor put you up to this?” Leorio asked. He pulled his keys out of his pocket and was already attaching this new keychain. Kurapika laughed, a floaty, effervescent sound like bubbles bobbing in a summer wind.

“Yes,” Kurapika teased. Leorio scoffed out a laugh. “And also my water bill.”

“Ah, I see. I knew there had to be another reason.” Leorio winked. He stood up and started rounding the table. “I suppose it’s just as well. My lease is up soon. And I’m certainly here enough.”

“You have a drawer,” Kurapika reminded him. He spun in his seat to look up at Leorio as he approached. His heart was racing, his body warming in anticipation in all of the best ways as Leorio stopped, hovering instead above him. He braced his hands against the kitchen island on either side of Kurapika’s torso, effectively caging him between his body and his chair. “And your hair products are _all over_ my counter.”

 _“Our_ counter,” Leorio corrected. Kurapika lifted an eyebrow, considering. A grin broke out over his face.

“Our counter,” Kurapika agreed. He met Leorio’s eye, and they broke down into childish giggles. Leorio pressed his lips to Kurapika’s forehead, his temple, the point of his nose. Kurapika’s mouth found his adorable, perfect dimple, his favorite place to steal kisses.

“And speaking of _our_ counter,” Leorio muttered. That was all the warning Kurapika got before Leorio swept him up into his arms, physically lifting him out of his seat and planting him on the kitchen counter. Leorio stepped closer, standing between his knees and angling Kurapika’s chin up to kiss him deeply. Kurapika immediately answered him, fisting his hands into Leorio’s shirt over his chest. He could feel the silken warmth of Leorio’s skin and racing heart under his palms.

Kurapika pulled Leorio closer, hands sliding up his neck to card through his hair and legs snug against Leorio’s hips. The burn in his gut roared to life in a full blaze, demanding, _begging_ to be sated, a hunger their food would not satisfy. Still, he made himself draw back for a breath, saying into Leorio’s ear, “The food’s going to get cold.”

“It reheats well,” Leorio reminded him. His hands dipped down over Kurapika’s back to play at the hem of his shirt, fingers pressing against the ridges of Kurapika’s spine.

Kurapika hummed low in his throat. “Fair point.”

Leorio ran his mouth down over Kurapika’s neck. “Couch or bed?”

“We have _guests_ on that couch!” Kurapika gasped, mostly horrified and partly in reaction to the way Leorio pulled him snugly against his taller frame and started carrying him through their apartment. Kurapika never used to tolerate being manhandled. But with Leorio, who was all muscle and clever mouth and cleverer fingers, very little got him going as much and as quickly as Leorio just lifting him like a ragdoll.

“So, the bed,” Leorio said, starting to move them toward the bed. _Their_ bed. In _their_ home. Kurapika could not stifle his smile as he tilted Leorio’s face up to kiss him, and for some time, there was no need to speak.

(Though of course they did anyway.)

~

Some time later found a freshly showered Kurapika sitting on the couch, dressed in a pair of sleep-shorts and an oversized hoodie he’d stolen from Leorio.

“I _wondered_ where that was!” Leorio called across the apartment. The microwave timer beeped, and he swore softly as he half-jogged over to the couch to set down their hot takeout containers. He waved his arms in a flourish. “Ta-da! Dinner, part two. Did you want to watch something?”

“Sure,” Kurapika said, turning on the TV and handing Leorio the controller. “Though I don’t have any suggestions about what to watch.”

“That’s okay!” Leorio replied. He was already swiping through apps. “I do! I’ve heard really good things about this movie that came out recently and honestly, I think we _have_ to watch it.”

“What’s it about?” Kurapika asked. He tried to take a spoonful of his biryani and burned his tongue. Leorio laughed at him, and Kurapika gently kicked his thigh.

“So, It’s about these people who have these awesome fire powers, except they’re treated badly because everyone is scared of them. And they have this badass leader who fights for them, because fuck that, you know? And propaganda says he’s a terrorist and all that, and he says that the government is being fucked-up and horrible and they all deserve better, and of course he’s right. And then there’s this medic he falls in love with and who ends up helping? Anyway, the fire one makes me think of you.”

Kurapika grinned wolfishly. “Do you think I’m advocating to overthrow the government? Don’t answer that.”

Leorio laughed again. “Of course not. But you’re a stubborn spitfire, so yes, in that regard, he makes me think of you.”

“Then let’s watch it,” Kurapika agreed. He took another bite of his food, like it might have cooled down in the past ten seconds. It did not. Kurapika made a noise, reaching for his drink to soothe his burned tongue. _“_ _Fuck!”_

He caught Leorio watching him. “What?”

“Just thinking,” Leorio said. He grinned suddenly, a flashbang of a smile that almost gave Kurapika a coronary. He leaned over and wrapped his arms around Kurapika’s bent legs, resting his chin between Kurapika’s knobbly knees. “I love you.”

He was _such_ a sap. God. _God_. Kurapika never had a chance. He returned the smile, reaching over to trace Leorio’s cheek. “I love you, too.”

Considering the last half hour, Kurapika supposed that Leorio did have some right to smirk the way he did now, all self-satisfied and smug. His tone was saccharine-sweet and his smile full of shit when he crooned, “Light of my life.”

“Pain of my ass,” Kurapika countered, and Leorio laughed _hard,_ practically shaking the couch and inducing the same response in Kurapika. He used his grip on Kurapika’s knees to vault himself forward and kiss him on the mouth again. Careful, thoughtful, firm. As if he, too, would never have enough.

Kurapika closed his eyes, leaning into the kiss. When they broke apart, Leorio stayed for just a few more moments, their foreheads pressed together. Kurapika breathed in, and he smelled their takeout Zaban, Leorio’s fresh, sharp body wash, his own eucalyptus hair product.

Leorio tangled his fingers with Kurapika’s, and he gently clutched Leorio’s hands in turn. He traced his finger over Leorio’s palm, his knuckles, his naked left ring finger. Unadorned for now, but perhaps – in due time, if the stars aligned – not forever.

Kurapika breathed. He _breathed_. And everything was okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's all she wrote, folks!
> 
> also i realized halfway through this the entire review writing just sounded like me patting myself on the back.... i'm so sorry.... it was meant to show the show is successful... i promise i do not have that huge an ego 😭
> 
> for anyone curious, my two songs i have to play you out with are ["build me up buttercup" as covered by you, me, and everyone we know.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZsM4fUil_f8) it strikes me as a song with some VERY "romcom end credits" scene, and i think it works very well for this fic!!
> 
> i also envision the theme song for the _light of my life_ show (and the fic in general) is ["my type" by saint motel.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=32faUlvDxCw) i have a movie trailer in my head that will never be made set to this song. oh well.
> 
> this is NOT the last you have heard from me! i will return soon for the hxh big bang 2021, and my other fic _bring a friend this holiday,_ and a THIRD fic that is already plotted out and is being written! 👀 i think a lot of you can guess what that may be, ahaha. but for now i am going to REST. 
> 
> in all seriousness, thank you. thank you all again, from the very bottom of my heart. take care, be well 💖💖💖

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so very very much for reading! if you like, feel free to leave a comment/kudos, and subscribe for future updates!
> 
> as always, feel free to hmu on my [tumblr](https://thefledglingdm.tumblr.com/) blog or my new [twitter!](https://twitter.com/DmFledgling)
> 
> thanks again for reading, and be well!! 💖💖💖


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